Halloween Unspectacular 4: Mess Effect
by E350
Summary: Thirty-one days, thirty-one shots, thirty-one crimes against nature; this is Halloween Unspectacular 4, the collection that defeated Napoleon (okay not really.) Ratings, pairings and genres may vary wildly, read with discretion. Requests will be considered.
1. 01 10 13: Back to Work

It's that time of year again! :D Let's get started!

* * *

**01/10/13: Back to Work**

"How bad is it?" asked the postal worker.

"Bad. We just lost contact with our post offices in Sydney," replied the postmaster, "There's something massive in the post boxes."

"Is this another Halloween Unspectacular?"

"I'd stake my life on it," the postmaster nodded grimly.

"How long do we have?" asked the postal worker.

"Not long," replied the postmaster, "I've sent word – the vans are mobilising."

"God help us all..." breathed the postal worker.

* * *

In 2010, one man dedicated himself to writing one story every day for a whole month.

Three years later, he has done this thrice, unleashing all manner of horrors onto the world. He has revenged the internet with robots, Dutch mutineers, dragons, witches, the British Army, cosmic horrors, attempted humour and a sinister device known as the 'Fiddley Thing'.

Now, he plans to write again – and only one invertebrate can stop him...

* * *

I walked back from my letterbox, a printed copy of _Halloween Unspectacular 3_ under my arm.

"Well gents, it's time of year aga..."

I trailed off.

Plankton was standing on my table, his skin blemished by strange blue patches (although the open marker box next to him might have had something to do with it.) His eye was blue and looked bionic. Danny was tied to a chair next to him, dressed in futuristic military fatigues.

"Plankton?" I quizzed.

"Nae!" he yelled, "I am the _Illusive Plankton!_"

There was a long silence.

"No," I said at last.

"No?" demanded Plankton, "What do you mean no?"

"We're not doing the ending of Mass Effect 3," I snapped, "I refuse!"

"But you can't refuse!" exclaimed Plankton, "We were gonna shoot you with a giant laser. We even made the Cosmolyst!"

Cosmo poofed into the room – he was transparent and wearing a hoodie.

"Hello!" he said, waving.

"Aww," I said, "You guys went to all this trouble to annoy me? You guys are the best annoyances a guy could have!"

"So you'll do the ending?" quizzed Danny.

"Not on your life," I replied, walking over to the computer.

"Well, are we at least gonna come up with a contest?" exclaimed Danny.

"Oh, right, yeah," I nodded, staring directly at you, "For those of you who've just joined us, we generally have a writing contest about now. I name a word every week for the whole of October, and your challenge is to write a oneshot about what that word brings to mind. The winner gets a prize – it can be a drawing, a fic, you name it."

There was a long pause.

"But not money," I added quickly, "This week's word is...ah...let's say 'moon', that's a good one."

I turned to the computer.

"Now," I said, "Let's do this thing..."


	2. 02 10 13: Lunchtime at the Tyrant's Arms

Played this one by ear. Here's hoping you like it!

**TweenisodeOrange: **Well, if you have time, I look forward to seeing what you come up with. Thanks for reading!

**PogorikiFan10:** Given as I have no idea what that is, probably not.

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I'll try to remember 'em, don't worry. :) Thanks for the review!

**MadnessAbe: **Oh, it shall go most wild sir. Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55:** I hope they don't get the meaning of 'Moon' confused...:[ Thanks very much!

* * *

**02/10/13: Lunchtime at the Tyrant's Arms**

"Gentlemen, thank you for attending!"

Napoleon Bonaparte stood at the head of the table, champagne-glass raised. He towered over the other luncheon guests, partially because he was a normal-sized man but mostly because he had a massive hat on.

"For those of you who have just joined us," he said, waving his hand about the table before inserting it back into his coat, "Let us introduce ourselves!"

"Hello, I'm Louis XIV," said King Louis XIV, the 'Sun King', "I like pigeons, long horse rides, and living in fantastic opulence while my subjects starve on horsemeat."

"I'm Hernan Cortez," said Hernan Cortez, "I long to bathe in the blood of my enemies in the name of Christendom, and I also like cakes."

"I'm Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig," said Douglas Haig, "1st Earl Haig of Bemersyde, KT, GCB, OM, GCVO, KCIE, ADC, OMG, WTF, BBQ."

"I be Blackbeard!" exclaimed Blackbeard, slamming a mug on the table, "If ye dare cross me, _I'll hang ye by the gizzards from t' mainmast!_ ...so, how ye do, lads?"

"I'm Alexander," said Alexander, "I'm here to build glory and name cities after myself. I think I shall rename this tavern – Alexandria's Arms of Alexandria!"

"I'm Genghis Khan," Genghis Khan said, leaning in, "That's all you need to know."

"I'm J. Piermont Morgan," said J. P. Morgan, "One way or another, I will come to acquire all of your money."

"I'm Roy Cohn," said Roy Cohn, "I really don't know why I'm here. Probably to make an evil lawyer joke."

"And I'm the bartender," said the bartender, "Another round?"

Napoleon and his guests stared at him.

"Perhaps later," nodded Napoleon, "Off you go."

The bartender muttered as he walked away.

"Now," said Napoleon, "The reason we are all here."

"Is it about money?" snapped Morgan.

"...non," muttered Napoleon, "We are here to initiate a cunning and evil plan!"

"So we're not gonna be three-dimensional villains, are we?" sighed Alexander.

"Nope!" grinned Napoleon, "Gentlemen, I propose an invasion...an invasion of...the important and wealthy state of..."

"You haven't decided, have you?" grunted Genghis.

"Non," nodded Napoleon, "I was hoping we could decide."

"Hmm...how about we attack Latveria?" quizzed Haig.

"They're our _allies_, Douglas," snapped Cohn.

"Exactly, they'll never see it coming!" exclaimed Haig, pointing at the roof.

"So, let me get this straight," said Cortez, "You want to match the genius and strategic intellect of _Doom_...with _Douglas Haig_."

"...aye."

"Veto," grunted Cortez.

"How about we invade Adelaide!" exclaimed Louis.

"There's _nothing there_, Louis," snapped Napoleon.

"Arr, we should sail for Panama!" exclaimed Blackbeard, "The booty there be massive and undefended! Those Spanish curs will never..."

"The Spanish haven't been there for a hundred years," snapped Morgan, "Also, the gold ran out centuries ago, and the area is defended by the US fleet. Also, you are drunk."

"Sobriety be overrated!" thundered Blackbeard, "Barkeep! _More!_"

The barkeep walked over.

"Sir, you're drinking boot polish," he said.

"Arr, and it be good stuff," nodded Blackbeard.

"The customer is always right," muttered the bartender, walking away.

Before long, the table had descended into shouting at each other and waving weapons about.

"We must invade Russia!" thundered Napoleon.

"Are you _mad_, man?!" blurted Haig, dual-wielding a Webley revolver and a glass of Scotch, "That never works!"

"Persia!" thundered Alexander, waving a short sword, "We attack Persia!"

"NO!" thundered Blackbeard, "WE ATTACK EQUESTRIA, YE SCALLYWAGS!"

"Alsace-Lorraine!" interjected Louis.

"Ah, if I may have your attention?"

The group turned to the bartender, who had returned with Blackbeard's 'drink.'

"Might I suggest you practice science or something?" he quizzed, "Because right now, all you are are angry shouty dead people, and next to witches and the Fiddley Thing, that's pretty rubbish."

There was a long silence.

"We could build a death ray," mused Cohn.

"That is an awful idea," snapped Napoleon.

There was a long silence.

"Let's do it."

* * *

"_Hey, Jim, I was scanning the Ghost Zone and I found something really weird,_" said Danny.

"Really?" quizzed Jimmy, pacing his lab as he spoke to Danny on the phone, "What is it?"

"_Um, apparently eight historical bad guys and Roy Cohn are building a death ray in a pub_," replied Danny.

"...can't say I expected that," shrugged Jimmy, "Alright, how do we deal with this?"

_"Honestly?_" replied Danny, "_I don't think they're that much of a threat. One of them was drinking boot polish."_

"Yeah, okay, watch it and tell me if something happens," nodded Jimmy, "If they actually finish it, we'll deal with it."

"_Got it._"

"Alright, talk to you later," said Jimmy, "If Jazz calls, tell her I said hi."

_"Will do. See ya._"

Jimmy hung up.

"Well, at least our enemies are unique," he shrugged.

* * *

For the record, drink orders!;

Boney: Champange

Louis: Fine red wine.

Hernan: Abstained from drinking.

Haig: Scotch.

Blackbeard: Finished rum - finished grog - moved on to boot polish.

Alexander: _Everything_.

Genghis: Horse blood mixed with cider. (They wouldn't give it to him straight.)

Morgan: Beer.

Roy: Already drunk to be here in the first place, so they cut him off.


	3. 03 10 13: Writing

This one got really weird really fast.

Review replies;

**Madness Abe:** Yeah, good luck with that. =P Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor: **My dislike of Sydney knows no bounds! ...I said before I went there for the weekend. :| Thanks for reviewing.

**TweenisodeOrange:** Sadly, non. Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I'm getting the feeling Blackbeard's the most popular all round. :D Thanks very much!

**Cartoonatic55:** Probably not, as it was written on the fly. We'll see, though. :) Thanks!

* * *

**03/10/13: Writing**

Jazz Fenton slumped over her desk, looking at the computer screen. She sighed, and looked at her printed instructions.

_ENGLISH CHALLENGE: Write a thousand-word story on a topic of your choice._

A unit so simple should have been a godsend. She could write about anything – comedy, drama, slice-of-life, tragedy, action, adventure, romance, knights, pirates, knights fighting pirates...

And yet, her screen remained resolutely blank.

So simple, and yet it was so challenging.

She scratched her head, trying to think of something, _anything_, but nothing came to mind.

"Darn it, it's so _easy_, why can't I do this?" she asked herself.

"Is it easy?"

Jazz jumped and looked to the door.

Sandy Cheeks was leaning against the closed door, arms crossed.

"Oh," sighed Jazz, "Sandy. How'd you get in here?"

"I got a better question," replied Sandy, "How do you know who I am?"

"Um...is that a trick question?" quizzed Jazz, "My brother and your friend are in some sort of hero team together, right?"

"Yeah," nodded Sandy, "But how did _we_ meet?"

"That's easy, we..."

Jazz trailed off.

_How _did_ they meet?_

"Funny, uh...I can't actually remember," she said, scratching the back of her head.

"Because we've never met," nodded Sandy, "We've never had a reason to meet. Yet I know you, and you know me."

Jazz blinked.

"That makes no sense."

"Course it don't," nodded Sandy, "Next question – who's room is this?"

"Mine," replied Jazz, "Why?"

"Really?" said Sandy, raising a eyebrow, "How do I know it's not Danny's? Come on, describe it for me."

"Sure, there's..."

Jazz trailed off again.

The room's walls, roof and floor were pure, unblemished white all round, with a pure white bed, a pure white desk, a pure white chair and a pure white computer. There was nothing else, not even a window.

"...what's going on?" demanded Jazz, "How did I not notice this?"

"Better question," said Sandy, "How'd you get in here?"

"I...I..." Jazz stammered, unable to work out how she'd come to be in the room in the first place, "I don't know, I just remember looking at the instruction and..."

"Before that," Sandy said, pushing for more, "What do you remember? Like...when's your birthday? Who are your friends?"

Jazz rubbed her head. She felt like she should know the answer to those questions, but she quite simply _didn't_.

"Last question," said Sandy as Jazz collapsed onto her bed, "What do you know about yourself?"

Jazz gulped, and decided simply to say what came to mind.

"I'm Jazz Fenton," she said, "Short for Jasmine. I'm sixteen. I'm studying to be a psychoanalyst. I go to Casper High. My parents are crazy and my brother's half-ghost, and..."

She sighed heavily.

"...is that right? I-is that right?" she begged, "Please tell me what's happening."

Sandy sat on the bed and put a hand on Jazz's shoulder.

"You ain't gonna like it, I'm not gonna lie," she sighed.

"Just...just tell me," muttered Jazz.

Sandy nodded and looked at the door.

"You're not real."

Sandy waited for a response – she got none, so she continued.

"This is all a story," she continued, "The room's blank because the author hasn't described it. You can't remember how we met because the author hasn't decided. You can't remember how you got here because you didn't _exist_ before you got here."

"So, if I'm just a work of fiction," quizzed Jazz, softly, "What does that make you?"

"An envoy," replied Sandy, "Come with me."

"What happens if I don't?" asked Jazz.

"Your part in the story ends," replied Sandy, "And...well..."

"I cease to exist," nodded Jazz, "Alright, lead the way."

The two got up. Sandy walked to the door.

"Well, down the rabbit hole," she grinned.

She opened the door – there was a flash of light...

* * *

"...aaaaaand she's back," called Jimmy, "VOX, return portal to average settings."

Jazz picked herself off the lab floor, scratching her head.

"Jimmy's lab?" she muttered, "What..."

She felt someone help her up. Danny smiled and stepped back, looking relieved.

"What happened?" asked Jazz.

"Desiree happened," snapped Danny, "That, and a certain author I'm gonna kick in the..."

"You got wished into an unfinished story," explained Jimmy, "We've been trying to get you out for three weeks."

Jazz rubbed her head as the memories returned. She remembered being at school – Desiree, and some guy in a red tie, then whiteness...

"So _that's_ how I got there," she said to herself, "But I don't understand, how'd you get Sandy in there?"

She looked around.

"Where is she, anyway?"

Jimmy pointed to VOX, which had a transcript of a story onscreen – the one she'd just escaped.

"'Sandy,'" he explained, "Was written in by us to guide you out. She was never anything more than..."

"...a work of fiction," nodded Jazz, "But why her?"

"Jimmy wants to know how you met," grunted Danny, "More the point, why Patrick Star isn't allowed at FentonWorks..."

"Oh, that," nodded Jazz, "Alright, I guess I owe you that. I think it was five months ago..."

* * *

Sandy slumped over her desk, looking at the computer screen. The line blinked over her last sentence – '_I think it was five months ago..._'

"Dagnabbit," she sighed, "Why is this so hard?"

"What do you mean?" asked Spongebob, walking into the room.

"Five months ago," grunted Sandy, "That could lead to anything, but dangit I can't think of anything!"

"Well, maybe you could try working on something else," shrugged Spongebob.

"Maybe," grunted Sandy, "But you know how it is! I gotta have one a' these up every day for the whole month!"

"You could try starting again," shrugged Spongebob.

"Yeah, maybe," sighed Sandy, deleting her writing, "I write too much about these characters anyway. This one's too weird."

Spongebob walked over to the window, deep in thought.

"You ever wonder if the people you write know they're fictional?" he asked.

"Course not," Sandy replied flippantly, "They can't think for themselves, Spongebob."

"Kinda ironic, though," mused Spongebob.

"What do you mean?" asked Sandy.

"You wrote yourself in as a fictional character," elaborated Spongebob, "But you're the only one that was actually real."

"Yeah," chuckled Sandy, "That _is_ a mite funny..."

She threw Spongebob a small grin and began to write again...

* * *

See, I told you.


	4. 04 10 13: So Your Government Shut Down

The following is very quick due to fleet reviews.

Review replies;

**Madness Abe:** Any excuse to use Inception music. :) Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Yay! I doomed your brains! Thanks for reviewing.

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Mind screws are fun. ;) Thanks for the review.

**Cartoonatic55:** I told you so. :P Thanks very much!

* * *

**04/10/13: So Your Government Has Shut Down**

_The following is a transcript of a conversation between Chief Advisor to the Mayor of Amity Park Lionel Hutz and civilian Sam Manson. The italic questions were asked by Manson, and Hutz's answers are in standard formatting._

* * *

_Okay, first question – why's the government shut down?_

Because bipartisanship is for _suckers_, that's why.

_So the government isn't working?_

Nope.

_But I still have to pay taxes?_

Absolutely.

_That seems pretty unfair._

But without taxes, how will the lawmakers get their well-deserved paychecks?

_You mean they're still getting paid?!_

Of course they are – that's the American way.

_…Mr. Hutz, you've been grinning into the distance for thirty seconds._

Oh, sorry, I thought an American flag appeared behind me – moving on.

_What's being effected by the shutdown?_

All national parks and museums will be shut down until we can agree on funding again. The Statue of Liberty is closed, which therefore means Liberty is closed. The NSA are _thrilled_. We also shut down the panda cams in the Washington Zoo.

_But what did the pandas ever do wrong?_

Many, many things, Ms. Manson. For example, did you know a panda shot President McKinley?

_No, no it didn't._

That's what they _want_ you to think.

_Okay, moving on. Eight hundred thousand people being suspended without pay, how can you explain that?_

Well, sometimes some of us have to take one for the team, and sometimes, _eight hundred thousand_ of us have to take one for the team. That's democracy, Ms. Manson.

_Did they vote for a shutdown?_

Ah…no, but they _would_ have.

_How long is this shutdown going to last?_

As long as we can make it – I'm making a killing selling shutdown related pickup lines on the internet!

_Last question – is this whole segment just a cop out to explain why the author didn't write a full 'shot today?_

Whoa, whoa, meta day was yesterday, sister! Today's politics day!

_*sigh* Fine – different question. Are you _sure_ you're an accredited political commentator?_

I certainly am. I did political science in the Shelbyville Richard M. Nixon Community College!

_…riiight. Thanks for your time, Mr. Hutz._

No prob…wait, is that an ambulance? Um…I'll be right back.

* * *

Oh you, Congress! :|


	5. 05 10 13: The Report

Naval based shot today, big surprise. =P

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** They'll do what they always do - blame each other. :) Thanks for reading!

**Gokiburi Prince:** Good, looking forward to it! :D Thanks for reviewing.

**TweenisodeOrange:** I certainly hope they will. Stay optimistic. :) Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Pretty much everyone I know is totally baffled by the whole thing. So yeah, you're right there. :| Thanks very much!

* * *

**05/10/13: The Report**

The Admiral paced his office, glaring at the messenger before him.

"Ships," he spat, "Do not simply _disappear_, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Smithers nervously scratched the back of his head, trying to think of an explanation that would satisfy his commander.

"Uh, well, Admiral Burns, the Pacific Ocean is largely controlled by Japanese forces," he stammered, "So it-it's possible that…"

"Possible _nothing!_" thundered Burns, slamming his fist onto his oak desk, "You do not _lose_ thirteen thousand tonnes of ship! _Find me that vessel!_"

"Y-yes sir," gulped Lieutenant Smithers, "We-we can send a vessel out to find her, we just…we just need the word sir."

"Oh, I'm sorry, _am I speaking Dutch?!_" demanded Burns, "You _have_ the word, Waylon – _send out a god damn ship!_"

He grabbed a heavy book (the Bible, in fact) on the desk and hurled it at Lieutenant Smithers, who ran out the door.

* * *

And so it was that a small flotilla approached a small atoll in the South Pacific.

There were three vessels, all destroyers. USS _Fulton_, USS _Burnside_ and HMAS _Vindictive_ sailed under a clear night sky, searchlights scanning the seas for any sign of the missing USS _Dimmsdale_. All was quiet – the _Fulton_ was running with a reduced crew, as no enemy action was expected.

Commodore Jimmy Neutron was on the bridge, sitting in his command chair (pretty much a wooden chair that had been liberated from Darwin). Every so often, he glanced at his watch – orders from high stated that if nothing was sighted by 2300h, the fleet was to anchor and await the dawn and the better light that came with it. It also meant he could go to sleep.

"Sir, something along the shoreline."

Oh well.

Jimmy got up from his chair as Lieutenant-Commander Timothy Turner, his Executive Officer, walked into the bridge.

"Yeah, what is it Timmy?" asked Jimmy, somewhat tiredly.

"There's a campfire on the atoll," replied Timmy, "Might be survivors."

Jimmy sighed.

"Take a launch and a shore party and go check it out," he ordered, "If they're from the _Dimmsdale_, bring them back here."

"Yes sir," nodded Timmy, saluting rather sloppily as he walked away.

"Volunteers," sighed Jimmy, "Never know when to just let things go."

Still, he smiled as he sat back down.

* * *

"Why are we even out here?" sighed Corporal Chester McBadbat, "It's 11pm! If they've lasted this long out here, they can last until I get some shut-eye!"

"Do you ever stop?" grumbled Crewman Dash Baxter.

"I'm a marine," retorted McBadbat, "Griping is my job."

"Both of you shut up," ordered Timmy, "We're landing."

The small motor launch came to a halt on the beach of the atoll and its crew jumped out. Chester and Dash looked around, rifles aimed into the darkness, as Timmy and Chief Petty Officer Nelson Muntz climbed out behind them.

"Alright, on me," ordered Timmy, pointing just over the rise at the smoke of a campfire, "Let's see what this is so we can go home."

"My money's on a downed Zero or something," muttered Dash.

"If it was a downed Zero, we'd _notice_," snapped Chester.

Timmy rolled his eyes as they climbed over the rise.

A small campfire sat before them, in its last throes of life before burning out. A skeleton lay against a rock next to it, clad in a ragged uniform that may have once been ornate. A rusty flintlock pistol sat next to it.

"Well, there we go, it's a dead guy," nodded Dash, "Let's go home."

"Just a sec," snapped Nelson.

He walked up to the skeleton and snapped off its thighbone.

"Souvenir," he said.

"That is utterly disgusting," said Chester, flatly.

Timmy looked over the skeleton, scratching his chin as his comrades began to argue about the morality of stealing bones. He could tell something was wrong – but something bugged him more than the other little niggles that had appeared in his mind.

"Who lit the campfire?" he asked.

"What?" quizzed Dash.

"This guy has been dead for at least a hundred years," explained Timmy, "So who lit the campfire?"

The crew looked at each other.

"…good point," nodded Chester.

"Another thing," continued Timmy, "That uniform should have disintegrated by now, right? And why isn't the gun buried by now, or washed out to sea or something? This whole thing feels wrong."

"Oh, come on," sniffed Dash, "There's a hundred explanations for this! Maybe somebody landed here a few days ago and lit the fire, then decided they'd dig up a gun and forgot to take it with them!"

"_Really?_" demanded Nelson.

"Well, what else do you think?" demanded Dash, "That this is some kind of ambush?"

At that precise moment, the _Burnside _exploded.

* * *

Jimmy stared, mouth agape, as the _Burnside _disintegrated in a massive fireball. For a brief moment, he registered nothing – then, he turned around to his bridge crew.

"General quarters, man the ack-acks!" he thundered, "Somebody get to the radar and tell me what the hell that was!"

There was a roar as a flight of 'Val' torpedo bombers thundered overhead.

_"_Fulton_, this is _Vindictive," the radio crackled to life, "_Radar detects enemy aircraft, plus ships bound for our position. It's the damn Kido Butai!_"

Jimmy paled.

The Kido Butai – the Japanese carrier fleet – was bound for their position. Two allied cruisers would not stop them; they would simply be rolled right over. In this situation, there was only one option.

"Starboard thirty, revolutions two zero zero zero!" thundered Jimmy.

"…you mean retreat, sir?" croaked an officer, "But…but what about the shore party?"

"Unless you intend to singlehandedly defeat the crème of the Japanese Navy, I suggest you follow that order," snarled Jimmy, "Is that clear?"

"…aye, sir," nodded the officer, "Crystal."

"Good," nodded Jimmy, "Now do it! Now!"

* * *

Timmy and his crew watched in horror as the battle group turned around and began to sail back the way it came.

"They…they can't leave us!" spluttered Chester.

"They just did!" snapped Nelson, "Get back to the launch before they get out of range!"

"You aren't going anywhere."

There was a gust of wind, and sand blew up into their eyes.

"Who said that?" demanded Timmy, "Show yourself!"

He heard a series of bangs from a rifle – then a loud ping as it ran out of ammo, followed by a louder scream.

"Corporal McBadbat, report!" shouted Timmy, but there was no reply.

"No! Get away from me! Get…_aaaaahhh!_" Dash screamed.

Timmy felt himself backing away on instinct. He could hear a series of rat-a-tat sounds – the burst of a Thompson submachine gun – and the sound of Nelson egging his unseen enemies to try some more. Then, he was alone.

Suddenly, a burst of sand hit him in the face. When he opened his eyes, he was looking into the face of a deathly pale woman with blue flames for hair.

"First rule of sirens," she sneered, "Never trust reality when we're around."

Then all was dark.

* * *

"…the Kido Butai?" asked Lieutenant Smithers, incredulously.

"Yes sir," replied Jimmy.

The _Fulton_ and _Vindictive_, scratched but none-the-worse for their encounter, had limped into Sydney Harbour that morning, and the Commodore had wasted no time heading for Admiral Burns' office.

"But that isn't possible, Commodore," snapped Smithers.

"_Isn't possible?_" demanded Jimmy, "The _Burnside_ is sunk, Commander Johnson and all of his men are dead, and you think that their loss _isn't possible?_"

"Well, maybe your radar was faulty," shrugged Smithers, "Because the Kido Butai is mostly refitting in the Philippines."

"But…but it was _there_, sir!" exclaimed Jimmy, "It was bearing in on us!"

"I can explain this, gentlemen."

A man walked into the room. He wore a Royal Navy officer's uniform with no rank insignia or unit identification, his eyes covered by a pair of aviation sunglasses.

"…and you are?" demanded Smithers.

"Torchwood, Naval Division," replied the man, "What you encountered, Commodore Neutron, was a siren den."

"What? Do you think we're idiots?" demanded Jimmy, "Sirens are a myth!"

"It's true," replied the man, "Sirens are capable of warping reality in the areas they operate. This siren created an interactive illusion, capable of changing on a second-by-second basis and self-sustaining. We call it a 'shimmer'. In this case, it made you believe you were under attack by the Kido Butai."

"…and how am I supposed to explain _that_ to Admiral Burns?" demanded Smithers.

"You aren't."

Three British Royal Marines walked in and took positions behind the man, their weapons clearly presented to the American officers.

"You will tell Admiral Burns that the _Burnside_ ran aground on a reef and sank rapidly," he said, "You will tell him that the wreckage of the _Dimmsdale_ was found close by, and advise him to close any further investigation. Is that clear, gentlemen?"

One of the Marines nonchalantly worked the bolt of his rifle.

"…crystal," nodded Smithers, "We'll tell him now."

"Very good," nodded the man, "We'll be off then. Good day, gentlemen."

With that, he turned and walked away.

* * *

TORCHWOOD! YAY!


	6. 06 10 13: Terror of the Police Auction

Oh no, it's the law!

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** No, I'm afeard it is not. That'll come tomorrow or on the ninth. :) Thanks for reading.

**TweenisodeOrange:** Well, that's Government Agencies hard at work for you. :) Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** It isn't Jack, I'm afraid - wrong outfit. Anyway, glad you liked the twist. Thanks for the review!

* * *

**06/10/13: The Terror of the Police Auction**

_NOTICE: Due to the recent closure of the trial against Malakarth the Terrible, Wizard Emperor of all the Bogan, the Police Department has elected to sell off all of the evidence in order to pay for a new break room. And also crime fighting (maybe)._

_The auction will take place at 3pm at Town Hall on Saturday afternoon. Objects on sale will be available for browsing from nine. Please see Police HQ for more details._

* * *

"…and we're here…why?" demanded Timmy.

He, Jimmy and Dani were standing outside the Town Hall, waiting to be allowed into the building. A small crowd had gathered, waiting for the auction to begin so they could buy the most interesting toothbrushes of their lives.

"I _told_ you," replied Jimmy, "We're here to gather as many of this wizard's artefacts as possible to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands."

"And why is this guy so important?" asked Dani.

"Didn't he take over the National Bank and try to turn all the money into cauliflower?" quizzed Timmy.

"No, that was Malakarth the _Mad_," corrected Jimmy.

"OK, then was he the guy who tried to destroy the world because he lost his job at the YMCA?" mused Dani.

"Malakarth the _Miserable_," reminded Jimmy.

"Was he the guy who tried to brainwash his way to victory using magic 'get slim quick' commercials?" asked Timmy.

"Malakarth the _Morbidly Obese_," snapped Jimmy.

"Was he the guy who made the Mona Lisa?" asked Timmy.

"…_Leonardo da Vinci,_" grunted Jimmy, not even bothering to look Timmy in the eye, "Malakarth the Terrible was the one with the poker ads."

"Oh, that guy!" nodded Timmy, "Sorry, there's a lot of Malakarths. It's a common name."

"Everybody, your attention please!"

Officers Eddie and Lou were standing on the steps of the Town Hall, the latter holding a large piece of paper.

"The auction is now open," barked Eddie, "We are selling the following items."

Lou began to read.

"Novelty spoons, times five – broken novelty spoons, times thirty-six…"

* * *

_"…__used tissue paper, used once during arrest by Police Chief Clancy Wiggum – cursed toaster, times one…"_

Dash Baxter and Kwan looked at the toaster (starting price – 50c), which was sitting in the open on a table in the entrance hall. They then looked to each other.

"Well," shrugged Dash, "YOLO."

He pulled a slice of bread from his jacket, put it in the toaster, and pushed it down.

There was a massive and thunderous roar, and a light emerged from the toaster. A ghostly apparition burst out – it was a giant piece of toast, with arms, legs and a face that looked like Hugo Weaving.

"I," thundered the bread, "Am the Breadlord. You have awakened me from my bed of yeast, and for that, you _must __**pay!**_"

There was a _ding_, the Breadlord vanished, and the toast popped up.

Dash picked it up. His face paled, and his jaw dropped in utter horror, his eyes popping out.

The toast was slightly burnt.

Dash screamed in pure agony, falling to his knees and punching the marble floor. He then fled the entrance hall, weeping in pure, heartbroken loss.

Kwan looked back at the toast.

"I am _definitely_ buying this!" he exclaimed.

* * *

_"…__two knives, bladeless, slight fire damage – two knife blades, no handle, extreme water damage – two gold doubloons, plastic…"_

"Mine!" thundered Mr. Krabs.

* * *

_"…__funny, I shouldn't have been able to hear that…swimming trunks, burnt, formerly of T. Abbott – two budgies, smuggled in aforementioned swimming trunks – DIY Plumbing book – plumbing and repairs bill – SLR camera, no memory card…"_

"Ooooooohhhh…"

Spongebob and Patrick stared at the camera, their eyes lit up.

"Wait a second," Spongebob realised, "Isn't this most likely cursed?"

"Oh, come on," shrugged Patrick, "Remember when I ate that cursed donut and nothing happened?"

"Patrick, we had to exorcize your rock," reminded Spongebob, "Squidward had to become a priest and everything!"

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…how did my life turn out like this?"

* * *

_Back at Town Hall_

"That was one time," mumbled Patrick, "Hey, hey, let's get our picture taken!"

He handed the camera to Sandy, who had been looking at the broken spoons.

"Sandy, take our picture!" he yelled.

"Uh…is this thing even yours?" demanded Sandy.

"…Uh-uh-uh," shrugged Patrick, "Just do it!"

"Uh…yeah, I'll sit this one out," muttered Spongebob, stepping to the side.

Sandy shrugged, aimed the camera and pressed the button.

There was a flash of light, and then Patrick was gone. In his place was a small Polaroid picture.

"What the? Where the heck did he go?" demanded Sandy.

Spongebob picked up the photo.

"Let me guess," sighed Sandy, "He's stuck in there."

"No, this is a picture of the Charge of the Light Brigade," replied Spongebob, "which must mean…"

* * *

_Balaclava, 1854_

Patrick screamed as he ran away from a line of charging cavalry, who had decided to ignore the nearby artillery to chase this strange pink demon.

* * *

_"…__unused Disneyland ticket, dated prior to opening, expired, slight foxing – fox, expired, slight foxing – one half of a chocolate bar – the other half of said chocolate bar – binoculars of fear…"_

"Oh, come on, they can't be that bad," grunted Homer, picking them up.

He looked into them.

At the other end, he saw an empty donut box next to an empty beer bottle in front of a cracked television.

"_NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

He dropped the binoculars and ran off in search of comfort food and beer and TV.

The binoculars had a lens cap on.

* * *

"…black flag with interchangeable white Velcro attachments – Mein Kampf first draft, entitled 'Letter to Warden, RE: broken latrine' – a Little Red Book – a Big Red Book – See Spot Run first draft, entitled 'How to train guard dogs – a self-help guide' – a half-eaten mince pie, property of Nicholas Romanov, dated 1918 – spent bullet, property of Nicholas Romanov, dated 1918 – my wrist wat…wait, wait, that's not for sale – shell casing, marked 'to Whom It May Concern' – One copy of 'Necromancy for Dummies', 1st edition, heavily foxed and badly beaten, some tooth marks…"

Lou was reaching the end of the list – three o'clock was approaching, and his voice was starting to strain.

"…and one spell book, badly foxed, pages missing with personal annotations."

He put down the list and panted heavily.

"Alright," nodded Eddie, "Auction of unsold items will begin as soon as the auctioneer arrives…"

"Wait!"

Chief Wiggum ran up the stairs, snatched the microphone off Eddie and pulled a hammer from his holster.

"Alright, auction time, let's do this!" he yelled.

* * *

"…you let the Necronomicon go to _Ralph Wiggum?_" spluttered Jimmy.

He gesticulated wildly towards Ralph, who was reading on the curb. He looked up and smiled.

"My soul is dying!" he said cheerfully.

"Look, I only had fifty cents left!" exclaimed Timmy, "I spent it all on the budgie smugglers!"

"Why would you even _buy_ those?!" demanded Jimmy.

"…father's day present."

"I don't even wanna think about that," cringed Jimmy.

"Well, I got the necromancy book and a couple of dark tomes," shrugged Dani, "plus the Little and Big Red Books you asked for. Why'd you want them, anyway?"

"I-uh-I didn't ask for those," said Jimmy, looking shifty.

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

"Yeah, you did. You said it was for-"

"Propping up a wonky lab table!" shouted Jimmy. "Now let us never speak of this again!"

"Alright then, fudgehead, what did _you_ get?" asked Timmy.

"I got a lot of cursed furniture, some of the spoons and a ballpeen hammer," replied Jimmy, "It was all I could afford."

"So none of us got the spellbook," nodded Dani, "Who got that?"

"Sam Manson," replied Jimmy, "It's in safe hands."

"Didn't she say she wanted to use it for something first?" asked Timmy.

There was a sudden roar like a bottle rocket. A small figure shot out from the tall buildings in front of them, screaming shrilly as it made its way leisurely towards the atmosphere.

"…aaaaaaaaand she shot Paulina into space," muttered Jimmy, "Yep – it's just that sorta day. Let's go home."

"But…" Timmy began.

Jimmy put a finger on his mouth.

"Let's go home," he repeated.

* * *

"Chief," said Lou, looking up as Paulina wafted merrily into the blue, "Should we do something about that?"

"That would require getting up, Lou," grunted Wiggum, who was sitting on the chair, "And this concrete is too comfy. Let her go."

Eddie saluted as Paulina vanished into the clouds.

* * *

Paulina Torture Count: 1


	7. 07 10 13: The Man in Black

I was hoping to start the multi-parter today, but time is short and I just got back from Sydney. Here's an excerpt from a planned fic.

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** Don't worry about it, they're my favorites too. :) I hope you do join, it would make me most happy. :) Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Oh it most certainly will. XD He's up to something, I tell you. :| Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Almost certainly yes! :] Thanks for the review.

* * *

**07/10/13: The Man in Black  
**

_Grover's Mill, New Mexico_

Sheriff Bill Gordon mopped his brow as he walked back into his office, switching on the light as he walked inside. The boy followed behind him. He was brown haired and blue-eyed, with an overbite and a blue jacket over a pink shirt and jeans.

The sheriff took his seat at the desk and pulled a file from the drawer.

"Timothy T Turner, eighteen as of March, of Dimmsdale CA," he read, "Is this correct?"

"Maybe," grunted Timmy, shoving his hands in his pocket.

Gordon nodded.

"The DPD have a warrant out for you, son," he explained, "They say you're a runaway."

"I'm eighteen," grumbled Timmy, "I don't have to live with my parents anymore."

"Doesn't mean you can spirit off in the middle of the night," said Gordon, crossing his arms.

"Doesn't mean I _can't_," retorted Timmy.

Gordon said nothing, but raised an eyebrow.

"Look, you can't send me back there," said Timmy, "There's...there's a guy, and he's kind of looking for me..."

"Stalker?" quizzed Gordon.

"...yeah, let's go with that," nodded Timmy, "Point is, if I go back, he'll find me."

Gordon nodded.

"I can't do anything about it, son," he sighed, "What I can do is tell the DPD to look into it..."

"They're can't help!" exclaimed Timmy, "Even if they were competent, this guy is...well, he's better equipped."

There was a brief pause.

"Son, there's no shame in going to the police," he said, "If it's really that bad, I can send an escort back with you..."

"...that won't be necessary, Sheriff."

A tall bespectacled figure with spiked hair had appeared at the door. He was dressed in a long black trenchcoat, with a white shirt and matching tie. A silver watch with many buttons clung to his wrist. He reached into his coat and pulled out a card.

"Officer Verne, Dimmsdale PD Special Investigations Branch," he explained, "I'm here for Mr. Turner."

"You an escort?" asked Gordon.

"Yes I am," nodded the officer, "I'm gonna have to take this case from you."

"Be my guest," shrugged Gordon, "Are you going to handle the..."

"Mr. Turner's case matches a lot of eighteen-year-olds nationwide," explained the officer, "The CIA is handling it. I'm taking him into protective custody."

"Where?" demanded Timmy.

"Far from everything, Mr. Turner," replied the officer.

Timmy raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, as long as it's not Dimmsdale," he said.

Officer Verne nodded and motioned for Timmy to follow. The two began to leave.

"Uh, officer, you don't mind if I call..."

The door shut.

Gordon sighed, and pressed a button on his desk.

"Deputy, can you come up?"

For a few minutes there was nothing, then the door opened. Deputy Alice Webber walked into the room, adjusting her ponytail as she did so.

"Guy in a suit came in," explained Gordon, "Said something about a CIA thing, took the kid we lifted. Some kind of nationwide thing, I dunno..."

"What'd he look like?" demanded Webber, sharply.

"Uh...black suit, trenchcoat, all the usual spook stuff," shrugged Gordon, "Nothing – oh! And he had a fancy watch, I'd wager it were some kind of fancy device. Maybe a scanner or something?"

Webber grimaced.

"Uh...deputy? Webb? You okay?" quizzed Gordon.

* * *

Officer Verne led Timmy outside into the dark street, where a black sedan was waiting. He motioned for Timmy to sit in the passenger seat.

The car was spacious and smelt like leather – Timmy wondered how much it cost.

"That was easier than expected," sighed Officer Verne.

He looked over to Timmy.

"Would I be correct in saying that you're running from a Mr. von Strange?"

Timmy paled. His hand went for the door – with a click, Verne locked it.

"Don't bother," he grunted.

"So, this is it?" sighed Timmy, "He's finally found me."

"We don't work for von Strangle," replied Verne, "We're a different outfit. What would you say if I could offer you a chance to escape him?"

"What do you mean?" asked Timmy.

"I can get you out of his crosshairs," replied Verne, "You can be free – in a sense."

"_In a sense?_" demanded Timmy.

"Well, you could never return to your old life," explained Verne, "If you agree to my proposal, then you start a brand new life. No more ties or baggage from home – bad or good. Furthermo-"

The night air was suddenly split by a scream.

"...aw, crap," sighed Verne.

"What, what is it?" demanded Timmy.

"There's a gun in the glove box," snapped Verne, "Take it and follow me."

"What?" demanded Timmy, "But I can't – what the heck is going on, Verne?!"

Verne was already gone, running back into the Sheriff's office. Timmy shook his head, opened the glove box and took out the small, strange-looking gun. He then got out of the car and followed Verne inside.

The power had gone out – a glowing red light was coming from the sheriff's office door. Timmy gulped and crept to the doorframe.

His jaw dropped.

Deputy Webber, her eyes glowing red, was holding Verne by the throat, suspending him into the air with a single hand. Sheriff Gordon was slumped over his desk, his head burnt into a smoking skull.

"You don't think we know who you are?" snarled Webber, a metallic tinge to her voice.

"Timmy," croaked Verne, "Fire...now!"

On reflex, Timmy raised the gun and fired, closing his eyes.

The expected _bang_ never came. What did come was a strange electrical sound.

Webber screamed, the scream distorted as the electricity flew through her. Her skin seemed to vanish, revealing a metallic body underneath. She dropped Verne and fell to her knees.

Verne landed, rolled to his knees and pulled a real gun from his coat. He aimed and fired twice at Webber's centre of mass.

Two bangs, then the screaming stopped. For a second, there was silence.

"Well," panted Verne, "Good job – thanks for not panicking."

"What was that?" demanded Timmy.

"Infiltrator," replied Verne, "Robot, trying to subvert humanity. You know how it is."

He climbed to his feet and offered his hand.

"Let's try this again – Agent Dib Membrane, Department," he introduced.

"Department of what?" demanded Timmy.

"Just the Department," replied Dib, "So...interested in a new career?"

* * *

Dib and Timmy were sitting on the boot of the car, parked on the side of a small dirt road just out of town. Dib was looking up at the stars, his coat removed.

"So, you're sure you're not just a _really_ dedicated Men in Black cosplayer?" quizzed Timmy.

"A cosplayer who knows what Fairy World is?" replied Dib.

Timmy nodded.

"If I join you, Jorgen can't get me?" he asked.

"Yep," nodded Dib.

"What's the catch?"

"Besides the loss of contact with home?" asked Dib.

"Yeah, apart from that," nodded Timmy.

"We erase all of your personal information from government records, empty your bank accounts, whatever you might have," explained Dib, "There's the possibility or dying or worse in the line of duty, and you have to live in an underground base for the rest of your adult life."

"That's it?" said Timmy.

"That's it," nodded Dib, "What do you say?"

Timmy looked up for a moment. Dib hesitantly offered his hand.

Timmy took Dib's hand and shook it.

"Welcome aboard, Agent Turner," grinned Dib.

* * *

Any interest?


	8. 08 10 13: The Fiddley Thing Again

Hurray!

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** That's were it all started. :) Thanks for reading!

**Madness Abe:** Isn't that basically what MiB was? =P Thanks for reviewing!

**The Shadow Syndicate:** Hmm, I should have Slendy in here one day. Anyway, glad you liked it, and no, I doubt Dib would know at all. :D Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Thanks for catching that. :) Hopefully, I will expand this. Thanks very much!

* * *

**08/10/13: The Fiddley Thing Again Returns**

"That's an _appallingly_ stupid idea," said Sam.

She, Tucker and Danny were sitting around a table at the Nasty Burger. Tucker had just proposed a business venture to his friends – they seemed less than impressed.

"Look," said Tucker, waving his arm, "People need heroes. Heroes need a vacation! All we need to do is find someone and..."

"I have a _job_, Tuck," grunted Danny, "I'm not finding a 'substitute Danny' so we can go to ComicCon."

"But think about it!" exclaimed Tucker, "If this works, we can make a business out of it! Think of the money we could..."

"We're not borrowing the _Fiddley Thing_," Danny replied, "To _turn people into me_ and _rent them out_."

"What're we doing?"

Danny groaned as Dani walked up to them.

"I'm suggesting using the Fiddley Thing to turn people into Danny so they can cover him while he comes with me to ComicCon," replied Tucker.

"Sounds like a good idea," shrugged Dani.

"...I'm washing my hands of this," grunted Danny, "See you tomorrow, Tuck."

He got up and walked away. Tucker looked expectantly at Sam.

"You're an idiot," she grunted, following Danny out the door.

Tucker shrugged and glanced at Dani.

"Wanna go to ComicCon?"

"Sure!"

"Then do exactly as I say..."

* * *

"...why?" demanded Sandy.

Tucker and Dani had taken their case to the Treedome. They were now standing around the picnic table with Sandy, Spongebob and Timmy (why _he_ was there, nobody quite knew.)

"Well, if I take Dani to ComicCon, we need someone to cover for her in Amity Park," shrugged Tucker.

"Isn't Danny enough?" asked Timmy, "Heck, if anything, aren't two Phantoms superfluous?"

"But what if Jazz gets attacked and Danny has to go to Cambridge?" demanded Tucker.

"Just for the record, Jazz is studying in Cambridge while being tutored in witchcraft by a mysterious Russian witch," said Jimmy, walking out of a portal into the Treedome.

"...yeah, we know that," said Dani, confused.

"Oh, I was just explaining it to Carl," replied Jimmy.

"Hi," said Carl, waving as he emerged from the portal.

"...great," nodded Sandy, "Is anyone else gonna barge into my house uninvited?"

At that moment, Ember faded in, arms crossed.

"Dipstick left his thermos at your place," she told Spongebob, "Got a portal back? I need to kick his..."

"...we're missing the point here," interrupted Tucker, "Can I borrow the Fiddley Thing?"

"No," replied Sandy.

"What if I gave you money?" asked Tucker.

"No."

"What if Dani borrowed it?" he asked.

Dani waved.

"No."

"Come on, Sandy," shrugged Timmy, "He's not going away until you let him use it."

"Timmy, it's a highly sensitive device that can alter the very fabric of reality," snapped Jimmy, "In the wrong hands, it could destroy the entire universe!"

There was a long silence.

"...c-can I borrow it?" asked Carl, nervously raising his hand.

"Tucker, I can't let you use it," snapped Sandy, "What happens if you break it?"

"...I buy a new one?" Tucker replied sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, but the answer is _no_," finished Sandy, "I just can't trust you with it..."

"...and I just grabbed it off the coffee table!" Dani said brightly, walking back from the tree.

Sandy did a double-take.

"What?! When the heck did you slip off?" she demanded.

"_Ghost_," Ember reminded dryly.

"Whatever, give it here," snapped Sandy, grabbing the Fiddley Thing and tugging.

There was a snap and a beep.

"She told you that would happen," Ember muttered dryly.

There was a flash of light.

* * *

Timmy, Jimmy and Carl sat at the picnic table, looking at the Fiddley Thing.

"Can you fix this?" asked Timmy.

"Sure, she wrote down the default setting," shrugged Jimmy, "It's labelled on the back."

"Then why haven't you set everything back to normal?" quizzed Carl.

"Because this is kinda funny," replied Jimmy.

The three were watching Tucker trying desperately and futilely to escape up the tree from a suddenly ghost-empowered Sandy, now dressed in Dani's jumpsuit and ponytail. Below them, Dani, Spongebob and Ember were playing 'go fish' with a gremlin and an anthropomorphic toaster. Outside, Bikini Bottom's skyline was mirrored by an identical seafloor above.

* * *

"Okay," sighed Tucker, nursing bruises, "That was a _bad_ idea. But we still need some way of covering for Dani..."

With reality restored, the group were now gathered in Sandy's living room. The Fiddley Thing had been locked in a safe.

"Danny can handle himself, guys," implored Timmy, "Even if he can't, there's still Valerie."

"No, we need a second Phantom," stressed Tucker, "Once you've had two, you can't go back to one!"

"I've never even _had_ one," sighed Carl.

"Sorry, I can't help you," replied Sandy, "You'll just have to find some other feller who can..."

All eyes suddenly fell on Jimmy.

"..._no._"

"Alright, it was worth a shot," sighed Tucker, "I'm going home."

He slumped his shoulders and walked out.

"...is he trying to guilt us?" asked Spongebob.

"Absolutely," nodded Jimmy.

* * *

Poor Tucker.

This week's word is Cave.


	9. 09 10 13: The Governor

Here it is - the first of the multi-parter!

Review replies;

**TweenisodeOrange:** No we have not. =) Thanks for reading!

**PogokiriFan10:** Sir, I have not seen those, therefore I am unable to comply.

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant: **Insano's coming soon, incidentally. :D Well, it _is_ home invasion. Thanks for reviewing!

**Autobot-Outcast:** Well, indeed it is! XD Thanks for the review!

**Cartoonatic55:** That it would not. It's like our mascot, really. Nobody's entered yet, BTW, although I think GP said he was going to. Thanks very much!

* * *

**09/10/13: The Governor**

_The East Indies. 1811._

_"Steady boys, just one more push!"_

_Captain Daniel Fenton waved his sword at the mansion atop the long, craggy stairway carved into the mountainside. Behind him, a motley crew of redcoats, marines, sailors and even pirates charged upwards through the storm, bayonets and blades at the ready. Above them, the last remnants of the 'blackcoats' opened fire with their muskets from the windows of the mansion – their fire was ineffectual against the dispersed attackers and only a few were down._

_Fenton reached the front door and bellowed out a command._

_"Colour Sergeant! Mr. Baxter! The door!"_

_Colour Sergeant Arnold Shortman and Royal Navy Seaman Dashiel Baxter crashed against the door, knocking it off its hinges. An excited marine charged through the door without waiting for support – he was blasted off his feet by a blackcoat officer with a pistol._

_"Company, forward!" shouted Fenton, leading the way into the building._

_Bayonet engagements were never an agreeable task – as Fenton rushed up the stairs in search of the enemy commander, several of his men were engaged in bitter hand-to-hand conflict with the blackcoats. The shouts of the dead and dying filled the air._

_Fenton reached a large set of doors atop the stairs. Waving over a couple of redcoats behind him, he kicked open the door._

_There was the enemy leader himself, standing next to the body of a convict chained to the floor of his ornate office. He was carrying a dagger, and strange symbols were etched in blood on the wooden floor._

_"Jesus Christ," one of the infantryman breathed._

_"You are under arrest in the name of His Majesty King George the Third," snapped Danny, pointing his blade at his foe, "For the crimes of extortion, fraud and murder of British subjects."_

_"How do you justify this?" the infantryman breathed again, gazing down at the corpse._

_The Governor simply glanced at his window._

* * *

"Alright, I shall give you the short of it."

The official from the East India Company handed the Governor an envelope.

"His Majesty's Army and Navy are occupied in the battle against Napoleon," said the official, "Our troops are merely enough to control our lands in India. Law enforcement in the colonies is a difficult task, and we need a place to house convicts."

"Then why not simply send them to New Holland?" asked the Governor, raising an eyebrow.

"We would prefer not to involve His Majesty in our transfers," replied the official, "This is purely Company business. Are we clear?"

"How much will you offer?"

"A _great deal._"

The Governor smirked.

"Then my gaol is at your service," he nodded.

* * *

The Gaol was built on a small island in the Indian Ocean.

A grim, dark fortress surrounded on all sides by rocks and cliffs, the only entry was via a narrow rock staircase at the front of the complex, which snaked up from a small dock to the front gate.

A column of prisoners – prisoners of the Honourable East India Company, to be precise – were being led up the staircase by a soldier in a black-and-grey uniform. The column was pelted by torrential rainfall and wind.

Timothy Turner had been convicted of stealing bread in Madras – he hadn't expected to be transported, and yet here he was, being led to seven years of captivity in this terrible place. The grey prison clothes he had been issued were scant protection from the elements, and he was bitterly cold. He wished he were back home.

The convicts passed through the gate in lines of two. The black-coated men watched them from the ramparts, glowering down at them.

"Convicts! Halt!"

The convicts stopped in a courtyard. A man in a black and gold coat, with a top hat and off-white trousers, paced in front of them.

"I am the Governor," the man snarled, "You are now my charges. I care not for what you did or who you are – within these halls, you are all equally worthless."

He waved his arms toward a dark keep on the summit of the island.

"From there," he barked, "I will see everything you do. One step out of line and I shall come down upon you with the wrath of the Almighty God himself."

He crossed his arms.

"You will be taken underground to your new cells," he finished, "There you will remain, whether it shall be for seven years, fourteen, or 'till you die."

There was a loud crash as several soldiers opened a large door on the side of the rampart, revealing ink blackness beyond.

"Ladies and gentlemen," sniffed the Governor, "Welcome to Hell."

* * *

_HMS _Devonshire,_ docked in Madras,_ _six months later..._

"Governor Macquarie has sent in a report," said the secretary, walking into Captain Fenton's cabin.

"What about?"

"A convict fleet made an unscheduled stopover in Madras," replied the secretary, "When it arrived in New South Wales, more than a dozen convicts were missing. We suspect foul play."

Captain Fenton raised an eyebrow.

"Of old John Company?" he sniffed, "You'd hardly be the first."

"The East India Company – or at very least, some of its officials – are certainly involved," agreed the secretary, "But the main suspect is a man known only as 'the Governor'. He owns a private prison in the East Indies..."

"...including private guards," nodded Fenton, "Let me guess – you wish me to storm this fort and find out where these convicts went."

"We can offer you a handful of men," nodded the secretary, "A company that was supposed to be sent to fight Napoleon. All King's men, of course – getting the Company involved may jeopardise the attack. Apart from that, you shall have to rely on your sailors and marines, as well as whatever you can gather."

"I can ask around," nodded Fenton, "When do you want us to sail?"

"As soon as possible – on the next tide, if you can," replied the secretary.

Fenton grinned.

"Right," he said, rubbing his hands together, "The next tide it shall be."

* * *

Gaol - it's one of those inherently wonderful outdated spellings, eh?


	10. 10 10 13: Fifteen Words Or Less

Have I ever told you how much I hate writer's block?

Review replies;

**Movie-Brat:** None planned at the moment. Maybe Slendy, but I'm not too sure. Thanks for reading.

**Cartoonatic55:** Hmm...never actually seen that one. :| Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Well indede! :D Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** A little clue - 'tis _bad_. Thanks very much!

* * *

**10/10/13: Fanfics in Fifteen Words or Less**

I sat in my review chair (which had started to gather cobwebs – workin' on it, people), staring at the computer. I was not alone – around the table, Timmy was eating a sandwich, Spongebob was doodling on the newspaper and Sandy was rapping on the table in boredom.

"I can't think of anything!" I lamented, "My get up and go has got up and gone! Anyone have any ideas?"

"Rule 63?" suggested Timmy.

"Nah," I shrugged, "I'll save that for when I desperately need hits on dA."

"You could do something with me and Sandy!" blurted Spongebob, excitedly.

"Spongebob, don't mean to rain on your parade," sighed Sandy, "But over the past four years, I've been turned into a Transformer, a husk, _several_ robots, a plushie, a fairy, stone, a werewolf, clones, a power ranger, a work of fiction, an author and Dani – _plus_ I've been sent on the Oregon Trail, been stranded in an Eldritch world, forced to read Deadly Mistakes, transcended humanity, swapped heads with Jazz, trapped in a computer, inhaled backwards gas and fought at Camlann. I think I could go with a day off."

"Noted," I nodded, "Ooh, I got one! Let's describe fanfics in...ooh...fifteen words or less. We can make a game of it."

Timmy shrugged.

"Got nothing better to do," he nodded, "Let's do it."

* * *

**My Immortal:** A reality-warping abomination turns Hogwarts faux-gothic, possessing everyone within.

**Thirty Hs:** Harry Potter gains incredible powers and death metals everything to death.

**Half Life: Full Life Consequences:** One man's quest to save his brother's life from aliens and monsters.

**Half Life: Full Life Consequences 2: What Has Tobe Done:** One man's quest for revenge against the Next Boss.

**Half Life: Hero Begginning: **One man rises against his oppressors and gives his kin hop.

**Half Life: Full Life Consequences: Free Man: **One man tears down a fascist regimes with bear hands.

**The Pits:** Danny is basically Russel Crowe in Gladiator, but in worse conditions.

**Checkmate:** Vlad is an absolute genius but suffers from poor parental skills.

**Future Shock:** The Future is scary and vaguely similar to Star Wars.

**Halloween Unspectacular: **Utter tripe.

* * *

'No, no, that's not working," I sighed, "Guess I'll just have to give it a miss today – for the first time ever."

"Or you could just post this conversation," said Sandy.

"Wouldn't that be a bit lazy?" I quizzed, "It's only one and a bit pages long."

"Never stopped you before," reminded Timmy.

"...no, I supposed it hasn't," I nodded, "Fair enough. Who wants to order pizza?"

"So we're just gonna end it here?" quizzed Spongebob.

"No, silly," I grinned, "We're gonna end it _here._"


	11. 11 10 13: The Meeting

I have five minutes to post this. That's how long it took me to come up with something.

Review replies;

**TweenisodeOrange:** Please do! Thanks for reading.

**Cartoonatic55: **She's been quite unlucky, hasn't she. =P Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Call backs and self-deprecation are fun. :) Thanks for the review!

* * *

**11/10/13: The Meeting**

Vlad Masters looked at the meeting place in distaste.

It was a nameless bar, nestled on a back alleyway in the dead centre of Brooklyn, and an unsavoury one at that. Rubbish was blown in the bitter wind about him – a single streetlamp flickered above.

"_Charming_," he grunted.

He walked in the door, grimacing at the filthy door handle, and went inside. He crossed his arms, sighed, and looked at his watch.

"Well, who's this?"

A group of three thugs had gotten up from the bar counter. Vlad sighed heavily.

"Looks like we got ourselves a rich boy, huh?" sniffed their leader.

He walked up to Vlad and crossed his arms.

"I'm not interested, gentlemen," said Vlad.

"Not interested?" the leader made a show of nodding his head, "Well listen buddy, 'cause we've got rules around here. To live in this part'a town, we need a bit a'..."

"Protection Money?" sniffed Vlad.

"Tribute," snapped the leader, "Let's say...a thousand. Hand it over, and there'll be no trouble."

Vlad shook his head.

"Sorry," he said, unapologetically, "But the answer is no."

"I don't believe I gave you a choice," snarled the leader, "Now, let me say it again. I want..."

Vlad leapt up from his chair and uppercut the thug closet to him. The second lunged at him, only for the billionaire to duck under his attack and flip him over. Putting a foot on the thug's back, he grabbed the leader's collar with one hand and lifted.

The whole attack had lasted about a second.

"You will get _nothing_," Vlad spat.

The leader paled.

"Yeah, yeah, sure man, we-we were just testing you," he gulped, 'N-no hard feelings, huh?"

Vlad scowled and dropped the thug onto his back. Shaking his head, he walked up to the barman.

"I'm here for a meeting," he snapped, "The gentleman in question asked me to talk to you. Something about...passage to Avalon."

The barman nodded, passing a key over the counter.

"Back room," he said, "You'll need the key."

Vlad took the key, smirked and walked away.

The barman glanced at the thugs, who were now limping out the door.

"And for getting rid of them," he called out, "All drinks are on the house for the rest of the night."

The bar's customers cheered.

* * *

The meeting room was small and somewhat smoky. Vlad sat down at the small mahogany table, taking in his fellow's presence.

"Mr. Masters," nodded a scarred man in a three-piece suit, "I trust you had no trouble finding us?"

"None at all, unfortunately," sniffed Vlad, "This place is a sty, Mr. Cromwell."

Mr. Cromwell nodded in agreement.

"It was all I could arrange," he sighed, "Resources have been sparse since...since _Camlann_."

His expression darkened at the name.

"So it's true," nodded Vlad, "The Witchfinder-Generals have fallen from grace."

"Our best were lost in the battle," Cromwell snarled, "And when the British Government found out about us, they came down on us with a vengeance. I am, as far I know, all that is left."

"Shame," said Vlad, his tone betraying no hint of genuine pity for the man, "But that doesn't explain why I'm here."

"I can tell you."

A green-eyed woman clad in a hooded robe looked up at Vlad. The billionaire's eyes narrowed.

"Morgan le Fay, I presume?"

Morgan le Fay nodded.

"You've met?" demanded Mr. Cromwell.

"Once or twice," replied Vlad, "When one has dealt in the supernatural as long as I have, they generally tend to make acquaintances...and _enemies_..."

"Today is not the day, Vladimir," interrupted Morgan, "We are here to discuss the most base of desires – revenge."

"I thought the most base of desires was se..." Mr. Cromwell began.

"Revenge against _what_, exactly?" quizzed Vlad.

"Revenge against those who ruined our lives," replied Morgan, "I'm sure you can think of someone..."

"_Jack Fenton_," Vlad snarled, "But what about you?"

"The scientist that gave me these scars," replied Mr. Cromwell, pointing at his face, "Dr. Insano."

"Guinevere," said Morgan, simply.

"We all want revenge, Mr. Masters."

All eyes turned to the head of the table. A cloaked individual was hunched over the table, his(?) hood down.

"You, me, Cromwell, Morgan," he continued in an unnaturally deep voice, "And untold others all thirst for it. We can and we _will_ make our foes _pay_ for what they have done to us."

"How?" demanded Vlad.

"I thought you would never ask," replied the cloak.

The wall behind him lit up – a hologram of an ancient city appeared above the cloak.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, "We must capture El Dorado."

* * *

Arc arc arc arc arc arc arc arc!


	12. 12 10 13: The Catalyst

YOU CAN'T CUT BACK ON MASS EFFECT REFERENCES! YOU WILL REGRET THIS!

...said my computer. Hence this.

Review replies;

**TweenisodeOrange:** Hmm...Plasmius, a government agent, a sorceress and a mystery being against a rich duck and his nephews. My money's on the duck. Thanks for reading!

**Cartoonatic55:** Funny how a one-shot collection has continuity now. :D Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Trust me, I reckon it'll surprise you. :) Thanks for the review!

* * *

**12/10/13: The Catalyst**

_The following are transcripts from dealings of alternative Commander Shepard's with the highly advanced but highly flawed ancient AI known as the 'Catalyst' in a chamber aboard the space station known as the Citadel. This exchange is known to have been documented in Universe-OTL in the game 'Mass Effect 3', whose ending caused mass internet rage._

_For the uninitiated, the Catalyst is offering three choices to end the attempted galactic genocide of the 'Reapers' utilising a device called the Crucible. They are as follows;_

_RED DESTROY THING – Blow up all of the AIs, even the good ones. Even though I am fairly sure a supercomputer would be able to differentiate between Reapers and non-Reapers._

_BLUE CONTROL HANDLES – Merge with Reapers and control them. Solution banks on Shepard not going insane and wiping out galaxy in a fit of boredom._

_GREEN SYNTHESIS LIGHT – Merge everything and everyone into a single DNA. Nobody quite understands what this even means._

_Most baseline Shepards either begrudgingly choose one of these or ragequit. However, the following are examples of particularly amusing discussions with this rather laughably bad AI. Enjoy._

* * *

**Cmdr. Daniel Fenton-Shepard, Universe DPME**

Danny was quite confused.

The Catalyst had just blurted out an explanation for the creation of the Reapers which quite simply was not an explanation at all. In short, their stated goal was to prevent synthetics from killing organics by sending synthetics to kill organics every fifty thousand years so they wouldn't be killed by synthetics.

It was more confusing than Revelations – both the Book and the Matrix.

"Okay," Danny said, "So, let me get this straight – you're killing us...so that we won't get killed?"

"Yes, that is correct," nodded the Catalyst.

"...and you don't see any flaws in this logic?" asked Danny.

"No, we do not."

"You're not really that smart, are you?" sighed Danny.

* * *

**Cmdr. Nostalgia Critic Shepard, Universe NCME**

"You may be in conflict with the Reapers, but they are not interested in war," said the Catalyst.

The Nostalgia Critic looked out the massive windows of the chamber, at the massive warships blowing each other up, and began to splutter incredulously.

"This-this is not-war-not-what-_are you high?!_" he thundered, "They're blowing each other to hell out there! There's like a million people dying a minute! You're bombing the crap outta planets! _How is that not war?!_"

* * *

**Cmdr. Homer Jay Shepard, Universe HSME**

The Catalyst was ranting on with its gibberish about Leviathans and Harbinger and genocide and such nonsense, when it suddenly realised that it could hear a strange 'gobbling' noise. It looked up.

Homer was standing next to it, shoving donuts in his mouth.

"Mmm...apocalypse..." he muttered to himself.

"Are you even listening?" demanded the Catalyst.

"Oh, sorry," said Homer, putting the box of donuts away, "You were babbling."

"Where did you even _get_ those donuts?"

* * *

**Cmdr. Daniel Fenton-Shepard, Universe DPME**

"You have hope – more than you think," said the catalyst, "The fact that you are standing here, the first organic ever, proves it. But it also proves my solution won't work anymore."

Danny blinked.

"It's taken you _this long_ to work that out?" he demanded, "What are you running on, Windows Vista?!"

* * *

**Cmdr. Timothy Turner Shepard, Universe FOPME**

"It is now in your power to destroy us," announced the Catalyst, "But be warned: others will be destroyed as well."

"Will there be explosions?" asked Timmy.

"But...all of the synthetics will be destroyed," continued the Catalyst, not quite liking the enthusiasm in Timmy's voice, "The Geth, you're own shipboard AI...even _you_ are partially synthetic..."

"_Will there be explosions?_" Timmy repeated.

"...yes," nodded the Catalyst.

"Big ones?" asked Timmy.

"Yes, um, very big ones."

"Right, I know what I'm pickin'!" grinned Timmy, drawing his pistol.

"But don't you want to hear the other choices?" demanded the Catalyst as Timmy walked to the Big Red Destroy Thing.

"Nope!"

* * *

**Cmdr. XJ9 'Jenny' Shepard, Universe MLATTRME**

"Okay, I'm synthetic, so that kinda rules out Destroy," decided Jenny, "You said something about controlling the Reapers?"

"You will die," said the Catalyst, "You will control us, but you will lose everything you have."

"But...I'll be dead, so...how exactly would that work?" demanded Jenny.

"Your mind would be uploaded to the central consciousness of the Reapers," explained the Catalyst, "But your body would die."

"...but I'm a robot," reminded Jenny, "Couldn't I just build a new one?"

"...no shut up."

* * *

**Cmdr. Dr. Insano Shepard, Universe SPEME**

"So you're offering me total control of massive machines of death?" exclaimed Insano in delight.

"Yes," nodded the Catalyst, "But your body would die..."

"_Screw_ my body!" exclaimed Insano, "Galactic conquest, here I come!"

* * *

**Cmdr. Sandy Cheeks Shepard, Universe SBME**

"There is another solution," added the Catalyst, "Synthesis."

"Please explain," demanded Sandy, crossing her arms.

"Add your energy to the Crucible's," explain the Catalyst, "The chain reaction will combine all synthetic and organic life into a new framework. A new DNA."

Sandy blinked.

"What."

"Do you need me to repeat?" asked the Catalyst.

"No, I heard ya," nodded Sandy, "I just have to ask – do you know _anything_ about science? Because I'm pretty sure that's totally impossible."

"I am omnipotent on scientific matters," snapped the Catalyst.

"Alright, prove it," demanded Sandy, "Pi to the last decimal. Go."

"3.14...and that's all I know."

"Of course," grunted Sandy.

* * *

**Cmdr. Charles Darwin Shepard, CDME**

"The cycle will end, the reapers will cease their harvest, and the civilizations preserved in their forms will be connected to all of us," said the Catalyst, "Synthesis is the final evolution of all life."

Darwin's eyes boggled and he turned a shade of purple.

"Final evolution of all life that doesn't even what-_for god's sake man, __read a book!_" he thundered.

* * *

**Cmdr. Nostalgia Critic Shepard, Universe NCME**

"...and that's just what's happening now! I mean, did you even _see_ Thessia?! I mean my god, that was _overkill!_ And Earth, what was that, an _exercise _or something?! Do you know how many people I've watched _die?! _And yet you claim this isn't a war?! _You sick bastards! _And furthermore..."

* * *

**Cmdr. Homer Jay Shepard, Universe HSME**

"The paths are open. But you have to choose."

Homer nodded.

"Don't worry," he said calmly, "I already have."

There was a brief silence.

"_WHY YOU OMNIPOTENT LITTLE-"_

He then lunged forward and attempted to strangle the transparent Catalyst.

"I'll teach you...to give me...crap choices!"

* * *

**Cmdr. Daniel Fenton-Shepard, Universe DPME**

"Your choices are _awful_," snapped Danny, "I'm not using them. I refuse."

"Then you will die knowing that you failed to save everything you fought for," sneered the Catalyst.

"But I'll do that _anyway_ if I pick one of your stupid choices!" exclaimed Danny.

"**So be it,**" snarled the Catalyst in a deep, snarling voice.

He vanished, and the Crucible powered down.

"What? D-did he ragequit?" exclaimed Danny, "H-he just ragequit on me! What the heck!"

* * *

**Cmdr. Sandy Cheeks Shepard, Universe SBME**

Sandy looked down at the Blue Control Handles that would dissolve her body and upload her consciousness to the Reapers.

"Okay," she asked, "On a scale of one to ten, how much is this gonna smart?"

"I'd say eleven," grinned the Catalyst.

"You don't have to sound so happy about it," muttered Sandy.

"Yes, but then I would not be, as you organics say, 'trolling,'" said the Catalyst.

Sandy blinked.

"You know what," she said, "To heck with this. I'm gonna destroy you."

"Wait! Wait, no! I'm sorry!"

* * *

**The Ninth Doctor, Universe DWME**

The Catalyst followed the Doctor down the chamber back to the TARDIS, spluttering.

"Fantastic," grinned the Doctor, "All done, didn't even take five minutes."

"Buh-but my Reapers!" the Catalyst exclaimed, "And-and-and you, and the-the light thing and..._how did you turn off the Reapers?!_"

The Doctor grinned, flashing his sonic screwdriver.

"Never underestimate this thing," he grinned, "Does everything but wood."

"But...you're not even one of the cool Doctors!" protested the Catalyst, "You're the Ninth Doctor! You're the Northern Doctor! I mean come on, can't I have Ten?!"

The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"No," he said, "You can't. And you know why?"

He turned around and grinned.

"Because you're just _not worth it_."

He made a thumbs up and walked back into the TARDIS, closing the door behind him.

* * *

**Cmdr. Nostalgia Critic Shepard, Universe NCME**

"...and you made me go through the Omega-4 relay, do you know how painful that mission was? And then you shot me with a laser! A freaking laser! What do I look like, Iron Man? I can't take a laser! And _you want me to spare you?_ No! F**k no! And you know why? **_BECAUSE YOU ARE AN AAASSSSSSHOOOOOOLLLLEEEEE!_**"

The Critic's last words echoed through the chamber.

"...I really thought this conversation would be a bit more dignified," said the Catalyst.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't."

* * *

**Cmdr. XJ9 'Jenny' Shepard, Universe MLATTRME**

"So, three choices," mused Jenny, "One question."

"Yes?" asked the Catalyst.

"What happens if I do _this?_"

She extended her left arm to grab the Blue Control Handles, fired a rocket at the Big Red Destroy Thing and leapt into the Green Synthesis Light.

"Wait, don't..." began the Catalyst.

Everything went white as reality shattered.

* * *

**Cmdr. Dr. Insano Shepard, Universe SPEME**

Insano laughed maniacally as his body dissolved, his mind being transferred to the collective consciousness of the most powerful weapons ever developed.

"...what have I done?" asked the Catalyst.

* * *

**Cmdr. XJ9 'Jenny' Shepard, Shattered Remnants of Universe MLATTRME**

Jenny looked around in the vast white void she had ended up in.

"What happened?" she asked, "Where am I?"

"I don't have a clue," shrugged a second Jenny, standing right next to her.

"Was it really worth it?" asked a third, standing on the other side of the first.

There was a long silence.

"Yeah," they all agreed.

* * *

_And as a bonus;_

**Admiral Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, Universe TZME**

Tali opened her eyes. A holographic child was walking towards her.

"I am the Catalyst," it began, "And this...wait a minute, you're not Shepard..."

"Great," grunted Tali, "It's a popup."

She brought up her omni-tool, the strange orange thing everyone had on their arms that acted as both a personal computer and a combat weapon.

"Popup!" spluttered the Catalyst, "I'm the most advanced AI that ever existed. You can't-"

He vanished as Tali deleted him.

"Right," she sighed, "Now, let's see if I can hack this thing into working..."

* * *

Just for the record - I actually really like the Ninth Doctor, I was just poking fun at David Tennant's popularity.


	13. 13 10 13: Figurines

Tried to go spooky, but it ended up more X-Files. Oh well.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** It's alright, I forget to review things all the time. Mass Effect wiki is a good start, although nothing can really beat playing the games. The Catalyst is supposed to be the AI that controls the Reapers, a race of genocidal sentient spacecraft. As you see, he's not a popular character. Anyway, thanks for reading!

**Cartoonatic55:** YAAAAAAY! *starts dancing* Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Indeed - _Dalek_ is probably one of the best episodes in the entire series, for example. Also, I sort of had NC channel what I was thinking when I played this ending, tbh. Thanks for the review!

**Movie-Brat:** Indeed, sir, you might say he's..._fantastic!_ :D Thanks very much!

**Solid Sun:** I know, right? The Catalyst is such an idiot. =P Anyway, thanks!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Thanks, because it was a heck of lot of fun to write. :D Thank you!

**Autobot-Outcast:** Please do, just remember to credit me. Merci!

* * *

**13/10/13: Figurines**

The small warehouse sat alone in the outer-Sydney suburb of Campbelltown, slowly rotting away under the warm Australian sun. It had been there for years – in the days of old, the railways had used it to store produce from nearby farms for shipment to Sydney Central station. It had been shuttered since the 1970s – but some still came and went from the building.

Most weren't criminals, of course. Some were student filmmakers, some were building inspectors and some were simply adventurers. However, the New South Wales Police had recently been informed of several cloaked gentlemen entering and exiting the building. They prepared to investigate.

Unfortunately for them, a small black sedan was in the process of beating them to it.

Timmy Turner stretched as he climbed out of the car, adjusting his hat as he did so. He shook his head and turned to his partner. Both were wearing suits and ties.

"You sure we don't have any 'local' guys who can handle this?" he asked.

"The new Australian PM withdrew from the agency," shrugged Dani Fenton, "We're all we have. Now stop complaining and let's get this door open."

Timmy nodded, grabbing a crowbar from the backseat.

"Another question," he asked, "You can phase through the door, yet I still have to force it open. Explain?"

"The public can't see my ghost powers, you know that," snapped Dani.

"Eh, they've seen weirder," muttered Timmy.

The two walked up to the door. Timmy knocked.

"Agents Turner and Fenton, UN Supernatural Investigations Agency!" he yelled, "Open up or we will force the door open!"

The only reply was that of a distant crow.

"Well, so much for diplomacy," sighed Timmy.

He studied the door for an easy entrance. He saw a padlock on the otherwise unsecured door.

"Well, that's easy," he grinned.

With a loud 'crack', he brought the crowbar down over the lock, shattering it. He then pushed the door open.

"After you, ma'am," he said, bowing.

Dani rolled her eyes and walked into the darkened warehouse floor.

"Shut the door," she ordered.

Timmy did so. There was a flash, and Dani's hand lit up with green light.

"Oh, so _now_ you can use your powers," complained Timmy.

The two were surrounded by isles of shelves, containing everything from well-overdue vegetables to empty cardboard boxes. The isles extended into darkness, providing the illusion that they went on forever.

"Five bucks says we run into Slenderman or something," said Timmy.

"Sure, you're on," shrugged Dani, "Run a magic scan."

Timmy reached into his coat pocket, producing a small cellphone-like device.

"Bingo," he said, "First isle to the left, I'm getting a pretty strong reading..."

The two agents walked through the aisles, following the scanner's trail. Eventually, they came upon a box.

"That's it," nodded Timmy, "Open it now or take it out?"

"You mean look at it in the villains lair, or get outta dodge?" rephrased Dani.

"Point taken, let's go."

The two headed back towards the door, unaware that they were being watched...

* * *

Since the UNSIA no longer had a dedicated office in Australia, they had been forced to quarter with NASA and CSIRO in their observatory outside Canberra. While this meant there was a lack of dedicated equipment for their cause, it also meant that they didn't have to spend all day in an office, which was generally good for the soul.

Timmy and Dani had set themselves up on a picnic table on the bank of the nearby Cotter River.

"And we're doing this outside...why?" asked Timmy.

"Because it's a nice day and the observatory wanted us out so they could watch something on Venus," replied Dani.

"What has Venus ever done for us," muttered Timmy.

Dani rolled her eyes and placed the box on the table, opening it up.

"...it's a bunch of figures," Timmy pointed out.

"That doesn't invalidate anything," reminded Dani, "Remember that time we found that magic newspaper and ended up in 1933?"

"Yeah, I guess so," nodded Timmy, "Reckon we can touch 'em?"

"Nothing's happened to the box," Dani pointed out.

"Alright then," grinned Timmy, reaching in and picking out a figure of a police officer.

"Hmm...not bad," he mused, "Kinda boring..."

Dani peered into the box.

"There's a lot of cops in here," she noted, "Look, there's some from the US, some from Britain, some from Russia..."

"...so he really likes the police," grunted Timmy, "That doesn't tell us anything."

"Wait a minute," muttered Dani, digging through the box.

"What, what is it?" asked Timmy, "Does he actually have something..."

He trailed off as Dani pulled off another figure.

It was clearly male, someone short and dressed in a lab-coat. The paint was chipped in many places, but there was no mistaking who it was – especially from the very distinctive hairstyle.

"Let me see that," said Timmy.

Dani handed it over. Timmy looked it over, his face showing no emotion.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.

"They're people," nodded Dani, gulping, "All the cops must've gotten in his way, so he turned 'em into...but why Jimmy?"

"I don't know," replied Timmy, "Keep digging."

The two went through the box, digging out more police officers and what they could only assume were innocent bystanders as they found more familiar figures. Eventually, they were making quite a line-up of people they personally knew.

"Jimmy, Carl, Cindy, Spongebob, Patrick, Sandy, Jenny, Chester and AJ, Sam," Dani listed, going pale, "They're going after our friends!"

"Why?" demanded Timmy, "We haven't been a team in years, why would they both..."

He trailed off as Dani pulled out the last figure in the box.

The figure had white hair and a black jumpsuit.

"Oh Dani..." breathed Timmy.

"Okay," said Dani, clenching her unused fist, "_Now_ this is personal."

"Is it now?"

The two jumped and looked behind them. Three men and a woman were standing by the table, arms crossed.

"Good afternoon, agents," sniffed Freakshow, "I'm Freakshow – these are Denzel Crocker, Penelope Spectra and Finbarr Calamitous. We'd like to talk about _revenge_."

"Revenge?" quizzed Dani, "For what?"

"It doesn't matter," snapped Calamitous, "We have _this_."

He glanced at Crocker, who pulled a small wand out of his pocket.

"Where did you get that?" demanded Timmy.

"Oh, a little fairy gave it to me," sneered Crocker, "A little _pink-haired_ fairy..."

"Well give it back," snapped Timmy, "_Right now._"

"This isn't getting us anywhere," scoffed Spectra, "Let's just get this over with."

"Gladly," retorted Dani, shifting into ghost form.

"You don't have a chance," sniffed Freakshow.

"After several years working for the UN?" replied Dani, "You'd be surprised..."

* * *

Paulina Torture Count: 1

E3 Hates Tony Abbott Count: 1


	14. 14 10 13: SquidRiffs - the Christos Zone

SquidRiffs - for when I'm too lazy to write something myself!

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Indeed - that list would be substantial. :) Thanks for reading!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant: **No, it's just something I came up with on the day. Maybe I will expand it. Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

**Autobot-Outcast:** That it did, sah, that it did. Thanks for the review!

**Cartoonatic55:** I may continue it, we'll see. Anyway, thanks!

* * *

**14/10/13: SquidRiffs – the Christos Zone**

In honour of the continued riff (that hasn't been continued in yonks), here is some more surgical riffing of the...uh..._masterpieces_ of one Christos200. Since I'm too lazy to do it myself, I'll hand over to Mr. Squidward.

* * *

**NO! NOOOO! NO MORE CHRISTOS STORIES, I ****_BEG _****YOU...and he's gone.**

Coruscant, night, outside a bar **oh no, now he's writing jokes.**

In the night streets of Coruscant, two Jedi Knights walk. The first has brown eyes, white hair and some scars in the face. He must be in the late 50's **as you could tell by the slicked back hair and the leather jacket**. His name is Nilas. The other, Ted, **Ted. His name is Ted.** is a young man with red hair. He is slim. Both wear black jedi robes **no really**. The young jedi laughs and speaks with his master.

- Ha ha. What a night, Master. **I don't even wanna know what they've been doing.**

- Yes, i really needed those two drinks. Anyway, now we must go to the jedi temple to meet with Skywalker. **Which One?**

Suddenly a smoke surrounds the entire place. **Just one smoke, though.**

- Master, what is this? **It is the dangers of smoking.**

- I..i don't know.

Ted scans the smoke nervously. A shape flashes between the camera **what camera? Oh, right – ****_scriptfic_****.** and him, and when it is gone, Ted now looks shocked. He looks down at a wound in his chest, then falls forward. **Yay! They shot the protagonist! I can go home now!**

Out of nowhere, Nilas hears a voice. **It was Billy Mays – I'm sorry, he made me say that.**

- Jedi, I am a ghost of the past. A ghost that wants revenge. **I'm calling it, it's Qui-Gon.**

Nilas, afraid, shouts.

- Who are you?! What do you want?!

- Your lives! **Oh come on, a ****_Captain Planet_**** writer would reject this dialogue.**

Nilas remains calm and tries to find the location of the killer, by hearing his voice. **Use the force, puke. That's another one I'm contractually obligated to use.**

- So, where are you? Why do you hunt us?

Nilas ignites his lightsaber, looking left and right cautiously. **But what if he's behind you?**

- To take revenge! **Revenge so great it requires ****_two_**** exclamation points!**

The old Jedi, whispers.

- He must be somewhere left of me.

He pauses, and turns just a little toward his left. As he does, the shadowy figure appears to his right and cuts off his head. **Decades of Jedi training, everyone!** Then he takes a sample of the blood of the jedi and leaves. **So he's a vampire or something?**

* * *

**I'm not reading the next paragraph. It's yellow text on yellow background, and I'm not paid enough for that.**

* * *

2 days after the assassination of the two jedi, in a base underground of Coruscant **Is there even an underground on that planet?**

In as small base underground Coruscant, there is a small room with one huge computer, with an even more huge screen, and many weapons **all of which are broken or something**. Suddenly a man comes in. The man is tall, slim, with blue eyes and a brown beard and brown hair **because people regularly have different coloured facial hair?** He wears a black jedi robe. The man goes near the computer **and gets right in its face**. As he touches the screen of the computer, the computer speaks with a woman's voice. **Why are there never any male computers? I mean ****_apart_**** from JARVIS.**

- User Name?

- Jedi Hunter. **Knowing Star Wars, this is his real names.**

- password? **Password.**

- 13579DarthVader. **Oh ****_come on._**** That's a terrible password.**

The Computer stops working for one second and then a light appears in the screen.

_- Welcome sir!_ **Don't imitate computers that are better then you.**

- Hello T3.

- Hello Master. **You already said hello!**

- I want information about master Katan and his location.

- Coming Master. **I'm glad she keeps calling him that or I'd never know who was talking.**

KATAN:

Jedi Knight with brown eyes, a beard and long white hair **hippie Jedi**. He was one of the 12 Jedi that managed to survive operation Storm **which was...what, exactly?** There is unofficial information that he is visiting the Jedi temple in Coruscant, to talk with Master Skywalker **and also because he needs a vacation**.

- Thanks, T3. Can you create a Face Spray? **What?**

- Of course Master. Just give me a sample of the blood of the person you want. **_Eeeww_****.**

- Here it is.

- In a few minutes i will create the spray. **Okay, ****_now_**** I can't tell who's talking.**

After a few minutes.

- The spray is ready sir. Face Spray is a spray that allows a person to change his face for 1 hour. **Okay, so you can make a perfect disguise in a few minutes...and nobody has used this until now. What.**

- I know **shut up**. Thank you T3.

As the man uses the spray on his face, the face of the man changes to the one of the old jedi that was killed two days ago. **As opposed to Ted.**

- Now i can go at the jedi temple. See you in a few hours T3. **I love how casual he makes murder sound.**

- Good Luck Master! **Insert smiley face here.**

So the man leaves for the Jedi temple. After a few minutes he enters the jedi temple. **Knowing christos, he probably crossed the whole planet in three minutes tops.** There he is stopped by a guard.

- What do you want!

- I am Jedi Master Nilas. Before two days i discovered something terrible and i want to inform Master Katan.

- Eee...Okay, i guess. **Your taxpayer dollars hard at work.**

- Thank you, guard. **Again, that's probably his real name.**

As the Man walks in the jedi temple, he opens a hologram and whispers.

- T3, when i enter the room of Katan use a virus to turn off the security cameras. **That'll teach them to use Windows 2000.**

- Okay, Master.

The Hunter stops at a com panel, setting his comlink against it. There is a beep, and he punches some buttons, which is answered by another beep. He removes the comlink, returning it to his robe. **I love how easy hacking is.**

- T3, use the virus now!

- Yes master.

As the Jedi Hunter walks to the room of Katan, the security cameras turn off. In the security center there is panic. Because the entire system is shut down, he cant warn Skywalker by using his own com panel **He? There's only one guy in the security centre? Typical.** One of the guards asks a Jedi youngling ***snirk*** to help them.

- You, do you want 10 credits?

- Yes sir. **Isn't this your job?**

- Inform Master Skywalker to go at the room of Master Katan. **Not to go ****_to _****it, but to go ****_at_**** it.**

Meanwhile the Hunter throws a smoke grenade inside the room of Katan, enters the room and closes the door. Master katan, panicked and afraid **none of these Masters are very good, are they?**, shouts.

- Who are you?! What do you want?!

- Revenge! **Revenge, right, that's your name then.**

- Who are you?! **He just said it!**

- You must remember me. Three years ago. In Phoenix. **Arizona?**

- You... Don't tell me you are.. **Dear Neptune, it's Spongebob!**

- Yes, i am the one. **Neo?**

- But you died three years ago.

- Yes, i died. But,my spirit comes to take revenge upon you! I am now a ghost of the past. A ghost that wants revenge. **Darth Voldemort?**

- Enough! You will die for real now! **For realsies!**

Katan pulls out his blue lightsaber. As he tries to defend, the Hunter stabs the Jedi on the feet, using his red lightsaber. **Epic fail.** Katan shouts in pain.

- Aaaahhhh! My feet! **When you're trying to write something dramatically, it's generally a bad thing when your writing makes the audience laugh hysterically.**

- Now, it is time to take revenge.

Meanwhile the boy finds Luke Skywalker. **Oh, ****_that_**** Skywalker.**

- Master Luke, one of the guards asked me to inform you that you must go at the room of Master Katan. **He wants favours. ...I'm so sorry, contract again.**

- What?! I must go as fast as i can! **And he walked fast out of there.**

Luke starts running, in order to save Katan. Meanwhile Katan shouts. **GAAAAAAAHHHH**

- Where are you!? **I've gone blind!**

Suddenly he hears a voice coming from behind him.

- Here. **Hello.**

Before Katan can react, the Hunter cuts off his head. **He's really not a very good Jedi Master. In fact, ****_nobody_**** is.** Then he leaves the room. Meanwhile Luke rushes toward Katan's room. Hunter, disguised as Nilas steps aside as Luke rushes past him.

As Luke opens the door, he finds the dead body of Katan. **He was very disappointed.**

- Oh, no! **We're really bad at this! **Guards, stop anyone who tries to leave the temple!

However it is too late. The Hunter has already left. **That was quick.** With a smile in his face, he walks in the streets of Coruscant, when T3 messages him.

- Master, was the mission a success?

- Of course it was. **All of my enemies are idiots. **One is gone. That just leaves the other eleven.

**And thankfully, that's where it ends. I am out of here.**

* * *

This Riff is dedicated to the memory of Ted.


	15. 15 10 13: The Attack on the Gaol

Back to the Governor!

Review replies;

**TweenisodeOrange:** I shall have to do that. :) Thanks for reading!

**Movie-Brat:** I know, I saw it.

**Cartoonatic55:** How obvious can a password be? =P Thanks for reviewing!

**Solid Sun:** His other stuff is much worse, trust me. :| Thanks for the review!

**OddAuthor:** I'm so sorry that had to happen. :( Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant: **I aim to please. :D Thanks!

* * *

**15/10/13: The Attack on the Gaol**

Life in the Governor's gaol quickly descended into a brutal monotony.

Every day at five in the morning, the convicts would be awoken by their cell block commandant and assembled for inspection in the courtyard by six. The Captain of the Guard would inspect each block of prisoners one at a time in a procession that took an hour. The fittest prisoners would be offered the chance to join the blackcoats – many took it, desperate to escape the poor conditions of the gaol.

After that, it was off to work – mostly on pointless and dreary tasks. The Governor particularly liked tasking his convicts with digging mines under the rock. There was no coal, no gold, no silver – just depths of rock and clay.

The work was long, hard and backbreaking, conducted in utter darkness. Anyone who faltered would be dragged away by the blackcoats, never to be seen again.

Then, at seven in the evening, they would be frogmarched back to the courtyard for another inspection. They would also act as witness to any punishments felt necessary by the guard, usually floggings. Sometimes this took about half an hour, other times it stretched way into the night.

On and on this went, for days, weeks and months. Then one morning, quite suddenly, a cannonball smashed through the window of Timothy Turner's cell.

* * *

Timothy jumped in his cot, nearly falling out of his bed in shock.

The cannonball had been blown straight through the bars of his cell window and was now embedded in the stone wall. Outside, he could hear shouts from both the convicts and the guards.

Nervously, he stood up on his cot and peeked out the window.

Three ships were sailing over the horizon, the sun behind them.

* * *

"Can you make out the ships?" bellowed the Captain of the Guard.

"No sir!" replied a lieutenant, peering through a spyglass, "Too much glare!"

The Governor and two of his officers were gathered in the office, looking out the window at the approaching naval squadron.

"Give it here, damn you!" snapped the Governor, snatching the lieutenant's spyglass.

He put it up to his eye.

"Royal Navy frigate and two private vessels," he noted, "Lieutenant, send word to the guns – heated shot, on the double!"

The lieutenant saluted and ran from the office.

The Governor glanced to the Captain of the Guard.

"Weather forecast?" he asked.

"Fine, sir," replied the Captain of the Guard, "Prevailing winds are on their side."

"For now," nodded the Governor, "Fetch me a convict."

* * *

Captain Fenton stood on the quarterdeck of HMS _Devonshire_, watching his crew reload the frontal guns (the 'chasers'). _Devonshire_ was leading the column, pack full with sailors, marines and army regulars. Behind was a civilian merchantman, the _Duchess_, and at the rear was the _Revenge_ – a pirate vessel seeking clemency in exchange for their cooperation in the attack.

"Are you sure we can trust the _Revenge_?" quizzed Fenton's second-in-command, Lieutenant Skinner.

"It is this or the noose for them," shrugged Fenton, "I trust they will make the right decision."

The walls of the gaol suddenly vanished behind clouds of smoke – cannonballs whizzed over the top of the _Devonshire_, finding their targets in the _Duchess_. The sails immediately ignited.

* * *

"Sir, we've set one of them alight!" exclaimed the lieutenant, rushing into the office.

"I have _eyes_, lieutenant," sniffed the Governor.

He and the Captain of the Guard were standing by the window. A convict was shackled to the floor in front of them.

"Your name, convict?" ordered the Captain of the Guard.

"N-Nathan Lester, milord," gulped the convict.

"Mr. Lester, you are going to help us change the weather," nodded the Governor, reaching into his coat and producing a dagger, "Do you wish to know how?"

"Ah...I can...no?" gulped Lester.

The Governor smirked, and handed the dagger to the Captain of the Guard.

"Would you like the honours, Captain?"

"My pleasure," the Captain of the Guard sneered.

"Wait...no! _No!_"

* * *

"Wind's pickin' up, sir!" exclaimed the helmsman, "And t' clouds are gatherin'!"

Captain Fenton cursed as the ship began to rock. In rough seas, accurate fire at the fort would be nigh impossible.

"Looks like we shall have to land," he sighed, "Signal the fleet! Shore parties are required! Get me the Sergeant of Marines!"

He massaged his temples.

"What next?" he asked himself.

At that moment, the _Duchess_ exploded.

* * *

Timothy winced as one of the ships exploded, it's gunpowder stores obviously ignited.

The other two ships were now launching boats. Men with guns were climbing into them – it seemed they were a shore party.

Was this it? Would they overthrow the Governor and end this nightmare?

At that moment, a blackcoat unlocked his door.

"Get out here," he snarled, "The Governor requests an audience."

* * *

The Governor raised an eyebrow as he watched the rowboats launch.

"I do believe he intends to send marines ashore," he mused, "Captain, ready the men."

"Already have, sir," nodded the Captain, "All approaches are guarded."

"How are we going for cannonade, lieutenant?" quizzed the Governor.

"Ammunition is running low, sir," replied the lieutenant, "But we shall keep firing for..."

All of a sudden, the window was shattered by a cannonball. The lieutenant could not even cry out before it barrelled into his chest, slicing him in two. His remains slumped to the ground, oozing red gunk onto the wooden floor.

The Governor glanced down at the poor lieutenant, ignoring the Captain of the Guard's attempts not to be sick.

"Shame," muttered the Governor, "Captain, send for somebody to clean that up, will you?"

He looked at the window, crossing his arms.

"And worry not," he added, "All they give us shall be returned twofold..."

* * *

Captain Fenton climbed out of the launch as they reached the pier, marines and sailors following him out. He had left the _Devonshire_ in Skinner's hands – now came time for the main event.

Colour Sergeant Arnold Shortman, his Sergeant of Marines, was shouting orders to the boat's crew, ordering them to form up and wait for the oncoming soldiers to disembark before attacking. Fenton didn't listen to him, instead gazing up at the fortress above.

It was clear to him that the worst was yet to come.

* * *

DOOOOOM IS COMING

As per the contest, this week's word is Cold.


	16. 16 10 13: The Quest for ComicCon

Montages are always funs.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** I know, it's like we're trying to torture him or something, poor chap. :| Thanks for reading!

**Cartoonatic55:** *in Darth Vader voice* _NNNNOOOOOOOO-OOOOO!_ Thanks for reviewing.

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I know, right? The blood gets _everywhere._ Yep, one more part, most likely. Thanks for the review!

* * *

**16/10/13: The Quest for ComicCon**

When we last left our intrepid heroes – ehehehe..._intrepid_...yeah right – Tucker had tried and failed to come up with an alibi so that he and Dani could skip town and do nerdy things in San Diego. Or New York. One or the other.

Now, they must find the jade monkey before the next full moon.

Wait, what? ...oh, sorry, that's the Simpsons. Let me get the right plot summary up...hold on...

Ah, here we go...now they must find someone to stand in for Dani (because of reasons) before it is too late...because ComicCon will have happened and they'll have missed it.

Will they manage it? Will they make it? Why is my phone ringing?

...wait, what? Oh, that's embarrassing.

Turns out they got Jenny to cover for them while I was expositing. Oh well, let's just make a road-trip story.

* * *

_Amity Park, Illinois_

"Okay," mused Danny, "Question. Where did you get the RV from?"

"Borrowed it from your dad," replied Tucker.

"Why did he let you borrow it?" asked Danny.

"Dani overshadowed your mom again," replied Tucker.

"And who exactly is going to _drive_ the RV?" demanded Danny.

"_I am!_" exclaimed Mr. Turner.

"Okay, now that we've confirmed that there's no way this can go wrong..." Danny grunted sarcastically.

He and Tucker were standing outside the Fenton Family Ghost Assault RV out the front of Fenton Works. Dani was throwing bags in the back (although whose bags they were, nobody knew).

"So, it's just you, Dani, Timmy's dad and fifteen hundred miles," mused Danny, "Isn't that a bit much?"

"Yeah, about that..." Tucker began.

"Who else?" groaned Danny.

"Oh, no-one much," shrugged Tucker, "Just Spongebob, Sandy, Timmy, Jimmy, Carl, Cosmo, Wanda, Poof, Ember and for some reason Sheen."

"Oh, this gonna end _perfectly..._"

* * *

_Chicago, Illinois_

"Okay," asked Sandy, looking up at the Sears Tower, "Why are we in Chicago?"

"Because we need to join the motorway system," shrugged Tucker, "At least, I _think_ that's what we're doing..."

All of a sudden, they both heard a soft scream, getting louder and louder. Sandy squinted as she continued to look up.

"Are those two guys falling off the tower?" asked Tucker.

"I think they're wearing jetpacks," noted Sandy, "And punching each other."

The two figures soared closer to earth, locked in a mutual death grip. Their screams grew louder, now becoming distinct.

"_NNNNNEEEEEEERRRRRRDDDDDD!"_

_"CCCRRRRIIIIITTTTIIIIICCCCC!"_

"Oh, it's _those_ guys," said Tucker.

The two pulled up as they neared the ground and promptly crashed into a skyscraper. They dropped the last ten or so meters to the ground, piling up on the pavement.

"...I blame you for this," moaned the Nerd.

* * *

_Milwaukee, Wisconsin_

"This is _completely_ the wrong direction," Jimmy pointed out, looking out the window.

"This is the scenic route!" exclaimed Mr. Turner, "I know what I'm doing!"

* * *

_Somewhere in Minnesota_

"Greetings, native!" exclaimed Sheen, "We come to barter for food!"

Linkara blinked in confusion at the visitors at his apartment door.

"Maybe he doesn't speak English," whispered Carl.

"Uh...no, I speak English..." Linkara began to object.

"Oh, right," nodded Sheen, "Guten tag! Die sprecken sie Anglisch?"

"Err...ja," nodded Linkara, "Can you go away now?"

"Ja? What does that mean?" asked Sheen, "Carl, translate!"

"He wants us to give offerings to his gods," said Carl.

"Uh...I have a magic gun," reminded Linkara, "Just sayin'..."

* * *

_Winnipeg, Canada_

_"WINNIPEG?!_" exclaimed Jimmy, "What the heck are we doing in _Winnipeg?!_"

"...alright, I have no idea," groaned Mr. Turner.

* * *

_Somewhere in North Dakota_

Tucker and Timmy were looking out a window.

"So," shrugged Timmy, "North Dakota _is_ a real place. I owe you twenty bucks."

* * *

_Mount Rushmore, South Dakota_

Cosmo was curled up on the ground under the stony gaze of four former presidents. Wanda was looking over him.

"Are you alright, hon?" she asked.

"They're _staring_ at me," whimpered Cosmo, "_Judging _me...like a row of..._stones_..."

"Cosmo, they're not alive," reminded Wanda.

"_Judging me..._"

* * *

_Nowhere, Middle Of_

"Dad, are we lost again?" asked Timmy.

"What makes you think that?" demanded Mr. Turner.

The group were standing outside the RV in the middle of a vast forest. Above them were several strange ring things in the sky, and in the distance was what looked like the crashed remains of a massive blue air or possibly spacecraft.

"Just a hunch," muttered Timmy.

* * *

_Salt Lake City, Utah_

The group were gathered on picnic benches next to a salt lake.

"Well, good news," said Ember, looking up from the map, "According to this, we have a straight road right to San Diego. There is no way Turner's dad can get us lost again."

"Don't say that, he'll take it as a challenge," grunted Timmy.

"Oh come on," reassured Dani, "You'd have to be some kind of idiot to get lost now."

"Uugghhh..." groaned Timmy.

* * *

_Gas Station, Nevada_

Mr. Turner was filling the RV up with fuel and talking to the gas station attendant.

"So, where ya headed?" asked the attendant.

"San Diego!" replied Mr. Turner.

"Is there a specific reason you're heading _east?_" asked the attendant.

"...scenic route."

* * *

_The Same Gas Station, thirteen days later..._

The attendant watched, arms crossed, as the RV rolled back into the station. It was now covered completely in dust, and parts were missing. Mr. Turner climbed out, his clothes now rags.

"So," nodded the attendant, "Scenic route, huh?"

"Just fill her up please," mumbled Mr. Turner.

* * *

_Las Vegas, Nevada_

The group had stopped to purchase clothes that were no longer falling apart, and also so that Mr. Turner could vanish into the slot machines for a night because he was a wonderful parent.

"I think I'm going insane," whispered Spongebob, laying on the bed of the RV.

"Really," grunted Timmy, hanging from a hammock suspended from the roof of the overcrowded vehicle, "Tell me about your problems while I cling to the roof."

* * *

_Mexicali, Mexico_

"_MEXICO?!_" thundered Jimmy.

"Okay," grunted Ember, "I've had it. Move over, daddy-o."

"Wait, no!" exclaimed Mr. Turner as Ember, Timmy, Sheen and Dani began to tear him from the driver's seat, "This is mutiny! _Mutiny!_"

* * *

_San Diego, California_

"Yes! _Yes!_" exclaimed Tucker, leaping out of the RV and kissing the ground at the hotel parking lot, "It's over! _It's finally over!_"

The group started to get out (with the exception of Mr. Turner, who was tied up and locked in the bathroom, and also sulking). They stretched their limbs and felt utter relief that the nightmare was over.

On the way back, they'd just take the train.

"Okay, is everything set?" asked Ember, "Because if we got here and the tickets aren't valid or something, I'll kick your a-"

"Double checked, don't worry," grinned Tucker, "All we have to do is sit back and relax for the next few days. _Nothing_ can go wrong..."

* * *

Across the car park, Mr. Cromwell watched the group enter their hotel. He reached into his coat and took out a phone.

"Target Bravo has just arrived in San Diego," he said.

"_Keep shadowing them_," Morgan replied, "_Wait until the Leader gives the word._"

"Yes ma'am," nodded Cromwell, "Don't worry, I was a Witchfinder – I've done this before..."

* * *

Mr. Turner is Credit to Drivers.


	17. 17 10 13: Underground

Another cheat day, because I went out for dinner (again - I can't help it, it was my brother's fault, he turned 21). This has been lying on my USB for ages and I can't even remember if I've shown it to anyone or anything. Anyway, with all luck, this'll be the last 'cheat'.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Plus it's cooler. And you chaps still have locomotive-hauled trains and everything! Anyway, thanks for reading.

**Night-Waker:** _Everybody_ drives better then Spongebob. _Mr. Bean_ drives better then Spongebob. Thanks for reviewing!

**Solid Sun:** Hmm...note to self, explain in later 'shot. ;) Anyway, thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** What can I say, I love arcs. Bad Wolf spoilt me, y'know? :D Anyway, thanks!

**Cartoonatic55:** It's up there with 'at least it's not _x_' and 'what next?', really. XD Thank you!

**Autobot-Outcast:** Ah, now _those_ were the days... Danke shon!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Next time. ;) Merci!

* * *

**17/10/13: Underground**

_Secret Ministry of Defence Office  
Unidentified Location, Great Britain  
1958_

The room was small, cold and dark, consisting solely of a wooden desk and two seats. Both military officers were seated, the junior of the two lighting a cigar.

"Want one?" he asked.

"I don't smoke," the older man replied, bluntly.

The younger man nodded. Unceremoniously, he clicked a tape recorded and began to speak.

"This is Major Jonathon Smith, interviewing Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery," he announced, "Prometheus Tape Zero-One."

"I don't see why you're interviewing me," quizzed Montgomery, "I was hardly involved with the incident."

"You were nominally second-in-command of the project," noted Smith, "You passed on research from Tunbridge Wells."

"That much is true," nodded Monty, "But we never got anything back – Lambert was never forthcoming, even to the Burrow."

"Dr. Samuel Lambert?" asked Smith.

"Yes, that's the one," confirmed Monty, "I never thought much of him – the whole project seemed ridiculous from my standing."

"His liaison to Down Street was a Hiram Lyell," continued Smith, "Lyell was your recommendation for the position."

"Yes, Hiram Lyell, I remember him," nodded Monty, "Terrible shame, really."

"Why did you recommend him?" asked Smith.

"He was an excellent organiser at Tunbridge Wells," replied Monty, "But he had a lot of enemies there, due to his origins."

"Lyell wasn't his birth name," nodded Smith.

"It was not," agreed Monty, "I believe his birth name was Lymann – he was born to Bavarians living in London – I remember he had some Jew in him as well..."

"His mother," confirmed Smith, "Practising Jew. Died a few years ago."

"Shame," nodded Monty, off-handedly, "As I was saying, Lyell wasn't going to last at Tunbridge, so I transferred him to London. Never saw the fellow again."

"Did you hear anymore from London after that?" asked Smith.

"Not about Prometheus, no," shrugged Monty, "Never heard another word of it."

Smith nodded.

"Thank you, sir," he finished, offering his hand, "You've been a tremendous help. It's been an honour to meet you."

"I'm sure it must have," nodded Monty, taking Smith's hand, "Might I ask why the MoD is interested in Prometheus?"

"Sorry, sir," replied Smith, "State secret."

* * *

_Jazz Fenton  
Heathrow Terminals 1, 2, 3  
Piccadilly Line  
Monday, 7.32am_

To say Jazz Fenton was elated would be a severe understatement.

She had expected a scholarship, yes. She had indulged in her own ego and hoped for Harvard or Yale. She had not, however, expected to get one from Oxford.

It had been a large letter, asking her to come to Britain in the early summer, with lodgings provided in Kensington until term started in September. Everything was paid for – even a car rental for use upon arrival at Oxford. Her parents had been thrilled (Danny had been less so, but he'd supported her), her fare to London paid – it all seemed too good to be true.

If Jazz ever looked back on that Monday, she'd know that it was, in fact.

For now, however, she was having the time of her life as she boarded the train into London itself. She was on her own, in a whole new country – it was almost a whole new world.

She found a seat on the back carriage of the train, and set her suitcase down beside her. Ruffling through it, she pulled out one of her school textbooks and began to read it as the train departed.

"A traveller, are you ma'am?"

Jazz looked up.

A man stood next to her, holding onto a bar. He was wrinkled, and wore a tatty old suit. A bowler hat stood over his ragged grey hair, and his shoes were unkempt and seemingly too big. He flashed a yellow-stained grin.

"Uh, yeah," nodded Jazz, somewhat warily.

"Welcome to the Tube, madam," grinned the old man, "I'm sure you'll grow quite acquainted with it."

Jazz opened her mouth to reply, but the old man turned his back and walked up the carriage, settling at the other end and opening a newspaper.

Jazz blinked, before returning to her textbook.

* * *

_Timmy Turner  
St. James Park  
District Line  
Monday, 7.42am_

Right now, the top of Timmy Turner's agenda was getting as far away from a certain babysitter as possible.

He had, of course, failed to consider the problem of being a ten year old without any money in the middle of London without even a Tube ticket, but some things took priority. And getting away from Vicky, who the Turners had so wisely paid to take to London, was a priority.

Vicky was _not_ a morning person, you understand.

Entering the station, Timmy realised this problem. Glancing around in panic, he began to consider his options.

Going back to the hotel – Timmy did not really want to contend with Vicky right now. At all.

His parents were...well, somewhere. He hadn't the faintest clue.

His...'godparents'...had been left at the room in his blind panic. For some unknown reason, they hadn't tracked him down yet (this was very unusual).

"Is there a problem, dear boy?"

Timmy jumped, and looked behind his back. An old man in a tattered suit and hat stood behind him, holding a worn-looking ticket.

"I'm not using this one," he explained, "It's all yours."

"Uh...I'm not..." began Timmy.

"Oh, but I believe you are," replied the man, cryptically.

He handed Timmy the ticket and walked away, melting into the morning crowd.

Timmy shrugged, and, using the ticket, made his way into the Underground.

* * *

_Tucker Foley  
Between Paddington and Bayswater  
Circle Line  
Monday, 7.50am_

Tucker Foley was a very happy techno-geek about now.

He was returning to Heathrow Airport, having won first place in a major under-age software programming contest the previous night. Proud of the work that he and his latest PDA (this one was Heather) had accomplished, he was looking forward to the flight home with the rest of the American participants. Whoever was sitting near them on the plane would be in for some epic Nerdage.

"Heading for Heathrow, dear friend?"

Tucker looked up from his seat. A grey old man in a tattered suit was standing nearby, a knowing expression on his face.

"...yes," nodded Tucker, somewhat warily, "How do you know?"

"I can tell from the bag," shrugged the man, "A word of advice – you should change at South Kensington to the Piccadilly Line – I feel it is an easier change there then elsewhere."

"OK," nodded Tucker, "...why?"

The man said nothing, walking down the train as it ground to a halt at Bayswater platform. He tipped his hat before alighting the train.

Tucker tilted his head, before shaking it and sitting back in his seat.

* * *

_Dib Membrane and Sandy Cheeks  
Unknown_  
_Monday, 8.00am_

Dib paced the darkened room, glancing at the monitors as he did so.

"That guy _cannot_ be trusted!" he snapped, "He's shady, he's manipulative..."

"He's all we got, Dib," snapped Sandy, who was sitting on an office chair by the screens, "We have to work with him to get to the bottom o' this."

"And what exactly does he want us to _do?!_" snapped Dib, "All he says is that we're _intertwined with the subway..._"

"Tube," corrected Sandy.

"Whatever!" shouted Dib, thrusting his hands in the air, "The point is we've been running about tunnels for a week now, doing this jerk's bidding! Now he's making more people work for him! We're pawns in his game! We know nothing!"

"You call yerself a paranormal investigator, don't ya Dib?" questioned Sandy.

"Yes, but..."

"Here's my advice – start investigatin'," continued Sandy, "We'll find out who he is, what he wants and why he wants it, and then..."

From seemingly nowhere, a clock chimed thirteen times.

"Oh boy," groaned Dib, burying his head in his hands, "Here we go..."

"I hope y'all like trains," added Sandy, looking at the screens, "I really do."

* * *

At 8.02am on Monday morning, on three different lines, three trains arrived at South Kensington, and three people got out.

Their lives would never be the same...

* * *

I'd probably continue this, but it's quite far back on the backburner.


	18. 18 10 13: The Inspection

This one was very fun to write. :D

Review replies;

**Night-Waker:** Use the tube, you must. XD Thanks for reading!

**Cartoonatic55:** Hmm...perhaps that's for another day... Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** They always do that, don't they? :P Anyway, thanks for the review!

**OddAuthor:** Hence why he's mysterious. :P Thanks very much!

* * *

**18/10/13: The Inspection**

_8.32am – Stanhope Municipal K-12, College, University and DMV Superschool_

Superintendant Gary Chalmers got out of his Honda and took in the fresh spring air. It was a beautiful morning – the sun shone, the birds sang and the school bus was lodged in the computer lab window.

...wait.

Chalmers groaned and began to march towards the front of the school.

Several cranes had beaten him there. Some contractors were talking to the principal – at the sight of the man, Chalmers' face turned red.

"SKI-_NNEEEEER!_"

Principal Skinner jumped.

"Why is there a bus hanging out the window?" demanded Chalmers.

"Uh...well, uh, Otto called in sick and we had to get a substitute, so..." Skinner began to stammer.

The door opened, and Patrick Star strolled out.

"All done," he nodded, "See you tomorrow."

Skinner groaned as Chalmers facepalmed.

"You do realise today is inspection day, don't you?" muttered Chalmers.

Skinner began to hiccup.

* * *

_9.00am – School Opens Up_

"Superintendent Chalmers, this is Denzel Crocker, one of our more..._colourful_ teachers," introduced Skinner, "Mr. Crocker – Superintendent Chalmers."

Crocker glanced at Chalmers, ignoring his offered hand.

"Yes," he grunted, "I suppose you're here to mock me?"

"Mock you?" quizzed Chalmers, "What possible reason would I have to mock an elementary school teacher..."

"I can answer that," grunted Skinner, "Mr. Crocker has an..._interesting _hobby...but it doesn't interfere with his teaching skills, I assure you..."

"Wait a minute," mused Chalmers, "Denzel Crocker..."

He clicked his fingers.

"You're the fairy guy, right!"

Skinner cringed as Crocker's pupils diluted.

"Did you say..._fairies?_" he wheezed, "Fairy...fair...f...fairy..._fairy-godparents! FAIRY GODPARENTS! FAIRY-GOD-PARENTS!"_

Skinner and Chalmers edged back as Crocker began to twitch violently.

"...aaaaand if you'll come with me, we'll see how some of the _other_ classes work," gulped Skinner, moving very quickly to the door.

Chalmers nodded quietly and followed him out.

"_FAIRY! GOD! PAREEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNTTTS!"_

* * *

_9.23am – Biology_

Things had calmed down since the morning, mercifully. Skinner had led Chalmers to one of the Grade Nine Biology classes, and they were now watching the class go ahead. The instructor was...eccentric, but he seemed to know how to do his job.

"So in conclusion," finished Dr. Edward Richtofen, "Zat is how die ant colony vorks. Like a bunch off mindless slaves."

He turned to the blackboard.

"Now!" he said, "Dissection vun-oh-vun!"

He wrote said term on the blackboard.

"Dr. Richtofen, I have to protest," Sam Manson said, raising her arm, "Dissecting frogs is immoral."

"Oh, don't vorry," grinned Richtofen, "Ve shall be usink somethink else..."

He walked up to a large covered tray and pulled off the cloth. Dr. Zoidberg was laid out before them.

"Good _god_, man, is that a person?" exclaimed Chalmers.

"Nein," nodded Richtofen, "Das ist a volunteer!"

"He offered me a sandwich!" nodded Zoidberg.

"No, we are _not_ dissecting a living man, alien or not," snapped Chalmers, "Back me up, Seymour!"

"I just...I gave up on this man long ago," mumbled Skinner.

"Then fire him!" interjected Sam, "He's clearly insane!"

"Ja, fire me," nodded Richtofen, grinning manically, "Try to remove me from zis lab...filled wiff everythink I need to convert your entire school into _mein zombies..._"

"...or we could fire you when you leave," reminded Chalmers.

"...ja...you could do zat," nodded Richtofen, "Zat would...zat vould be unhelpful."

He dejectedly pushed Zoidberg's tray out of the room.

"Right," he sighed in abject misery, "Frogs it is."

* * *

_10.11am – Political Science_

Skinner and Chalmers walked into the classroom.

"Superintendent Chalmers, this is our political science classroom," said Skinner.

"There's no one here."

The room was indeed totally empty.

"There was a fight," admitted Skinner.

* * *

_10.45am – History_

"...in short, he who does not learn from history is doomed to repeat it," said Mr. E3, writing on the blackboard, "Now, move on to chapter three and we'll discuss how wrong the Continental Congress was to reject British rule."

"Are you sure this man is impartial enough to teach?" quizzed Chalmers.

"Well, he _did_ spend the whole last term gushing about the Coldstream Guards," mused Skinner.

"What's his next unit?" asked Chalmers.

"Why Doctor Beeching sucks."

* * *

_11.04am – Cafeteria_

Recess had arrived, and those students without home lunches had made their way to the cafeteria for their processed schlock.

"You literally call this 'schlock'," noted Chalmers, looking at the strange green-brown mess in the tray, "What exactly is in it?"

"Oh, you know what they say," grinned Skulker, dressed as a stereotypical chef, "A good chef never reveals his secrets."

"Lunchman Skulker?" Milhouse asked meekly, moving up his tray, "Can I have something that isn't schlock?"

"How _dare _you?!" exclaimed Skulker, "I hunted this schlock myself, you impudent whelp!"

Scores of rockets and blades emerged from his suit, aimed right at Milhouse.

"I'll...I'll take schlock," gulped Milhouse.

* * *

_12.21pm – DMV Classroom_

"...it's very nice to meet you, Superintendent," grinned Mrs. Puff, "I was just about to do a driver's test!"

"May I pick a student?" asked Chalmers.

"Certainly!"

Chalmers scanned the classroom. His eyes immediately fell on a excited-looking sponge in the front row. Oblivious to Skinner's sudden outbreak of arm waving and mouthing of 'no', he pointed to him.

"Well, that gentleman seems pretty up to it," he nodded.

"No."

"What're your name, son?" asked Chalmers, unaware that Mrs. Puff was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Spongebob," Spongebob grinned.

"Well, Spongebob, are you ready to drive?"

"No, please, no, no..."

"I'm ready!" exclaimed Spongebob.

"Well then, let's get right..."

"_NNNNOOOOOOOOOO!"_

Chalmers jumped as Mrs. Puff fell to her knees and started screaming.

"No! No, please! Don't let him drive!" wept Mrs. Puff, "_Don't let him drive! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!_"

She curled up in the fetal position and began to rock back and forth.

"...Skinner," demanded Chalmers, "What is this?"

"Um...he's tested before," replied Skinner, "Many times."

"Ah."

* * *

_12.54pm – English_

"Mr. Lancer," nodded Chalmers, "Your reputation precedes you!"

"My reputation as an English teacher?" asked Lancer.

"Uh, no, actually it's that thing you do where you take pictures of yourself dressed..."

"Purely a learning aide, Superintendent," grunted Lancer, "Anyway, we're doing _Moby Dick_ today, so if you'll take a seat..."

"No, seriously, does that actually work?" quizzed Chalmers, "Because we need to motivate students any way we can and..."

"_Sit. Down._"

* * *

_1.15pm – Lunch_

"_SKI-NNEEEEEER!_ May I try some of that baloney sandwich?"

Skinner and Chalmers were eating lunch at one of the outdoor tables.

"Mother doesn't like me sharing," replied Skinner.

"Eh, she won't know about it," shrugged Chalmers, "Come on, hand it over."

Skinner glanced left and right before whispering in Chalmers ear.

"She bugs my sandwiches."

"Oh."

* * *

_2.00pm – Science_

"Most of these chemicals are illegal in 191 countries," noted Chalmers, looking over the lab stocks in the cupboard, "_And_ 49 states."

"Lucky we're not in any of those, then," shrugged Skinner.

"So, you said the usual science teacher is sick," remembered Chalmers, "Who's teaching instead."

"Sandy Cheeks," replied Skinner, "Don't worry, she's competent."

Chalmers nodded and looked over the class role.

"Hmm...you've mentioned this fellow before," he mused.

"Who?" quizzed Skinner.

"Umm...Simpson, B..."

There was a loud bang.

"_Simpson_," scowled Skinner.

He barged out of the cupboard.

"Simpson, that had better not..."

He trailed off.

The entire front of the lab was now covered in green gunk. The window was shattered (by the looks of it, someone had tried to escape) and the rest of the class were huddled in the dry half of the lab.

"Oh my gosh!" exclaimed Carl, "You've killed the teacher!"

"Yeah, he wishes."

A section of goop peeled itself off the wall and formed itself into a rather slimy but accurate rendition of the substitute teacher, who proceeded to cross her arms.

Chalmers raised an eyebrow. Was this scientifically possible?

"Alright, which one of y'all swapped the chemicals?" Sandy demanded.

All hands fell onto the spiky-haired culprit of the prank.

Sheen gulped, and pointed at Bart. The other boy shrugged.

"Hey, wasn't me this time," he noted.

"Congratulations, Estevez, you just won yourself detention," snapped Sandy.

"Ah, darn it!" grunted Sheen, "I just wanted to re-enact Episode 48y6.3 of Ultralord! You know, the one with the slime villainess that's popular for some reason? It was just an _experiment!_"

"...wait, you...you _knew_ this would happen?" quizzed Chalmers.

"Duh, I'm not stupid," nodded Sheen, "Not like _Carl._"

"Hey!"

"Hmm...I think that deserves an extra credit, don't you Seymour?" nodded Chalmers.

"Hmm...perhaps it does," nodded Skinner.

"Yes!"

"Don't celebrate just yet, jackrabbit," grunted Sandy, "You still got detention."

* * *

_3.22pm – End of the Day_

Skinner and Chalmers sat in the Detention Room, where the latter was watching over the unfortunate who had crossed the boundaries of school law – namely Sheen, Bart and for some reason Milhouse.

"Well, Seymour," said Chalmers, "I can't in all honesty pass this school. But, since our funding is next to nothing, we can't put you on probation either."

"So, business as usual?" said Skinner.

"For now," grunted Chalmers, "At very least, there hasn't been any property damage since..."

At that moment, a bus ploughed into the wall of the third-storey room.

"What the?" blurted Skinner, "Who-whose driving that?"

The driver peeked out the door.

"Hi Principal Skinner!" exclaimed Ralph, "I'm a temp!"

Skinner cringed as Chalmers' face turned red.

**"****_SKI-NNEEEEEEEEEEERRR!"_**

* * *

Yep, really enjoyed that one.


	19. 19 10 13: Mister Grim

Thought I'd reinvent an old villain. Remember Grim? He started as a mostly one-dimensional villain, then he became a mostly one-dimensional villain with parental issues. Hopefully, this is a better direction for his character.

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** Because reality is boring. :P Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor: **Mr. E3 understands but still gives you an F. :P Thanks for reviewing!

**Night-Waker:** Sure, but I don't think you'd learn much. Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Perhaps all the chaos cancels each other out? XD Thanks very much!

* * *

**19/10/13: Mister Grim**

"...so, d'you hear the news?"

"I don't listen t' that crap, s' all bias these days."

"Nah mate, really – there's a police blitz this weekend. They're crackin' down on 'dishonest business.' Thought you might wanna know, mate."

"Dishonest? Come off it, how is _this_ dishonest? I tell you what's dishonest – those bloody coppers, that's what's dishonest."

"How exactly are the _cops_ dishonest?"

"Speed cameras, mate."

"_Speed cameras._"

"Yeah mate, speed cameras – got a ticket off one of 'em for doin' five over the limit. I mean _come on_, that's highway robbery!"

"At risk of ending this conversation, we've arrived. Come on, let's get our pay."

The rusty covered utility pulled up by a mansion on top of a hill. The thugs driving it – one an Englishman, one Australian – got out and scanned the moonlit, Victorian architecture of the building.

"Blimey," mused the Englishman, "How loaded's this fella?"

"Bloke's a collector of some sort," shrugged the Australian, "Cops think he's in with organised crime, but they don't have any proof."

He smirked.

"But _we_ do, don't we?"

The Englishman snickered and walked around to the back of the utility.

"Alright, let's get this out of the lorry," he muttered.

"_Ute_," corrected the Australian.

"Mate, I really don't give a toss," muttered the Englishman.

The Australian glared at him as he pulled the cover off the lorry. A large box with holes punched in it was chained to the tray – whimpering could be heard from within.

"So, what do you think?" mused the Australian.

"I reckon 'e'll sell to pirates," replied the Englishman, "Can't deny the fellas pay a lot..."

"Gentlemen."

The thugs jumped and turned around.

An old man in a tan three-piece suit and bowler, his face accented by grey mutton-chops, was standing next to the ute.

"My employer wishes me to collect the prize," said the man, "One thousand, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, uh, listen mate," began the Englishman, "Given the...ah...current economic climate, we're gonna hafta ask you to..."

"Two-thousand, that's as high as we'll go," sniffed the man.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya," nodded the Englishman, "We'll be off then."

"See you, mate," said the Australian.

The two thugs tossed the crate out of the ute, took their money and drove away. The old man shook his head.

"No vision," he sniffed, "In any case, I'd best deliver this..."

* * *

"Did you deal with the thugs?"

"Yes, bunch of imbeciles that they are," grunted the old man, "I wouldn't rely on them again, they'll probably be arrested soon."

"Indeed."

The old man was dragging the crate through the hallways of the manor, speaking with one of his master's guests. Vlad Masters was in town for business, but he had accepted the master's invite for 'discussions' quite readily.

"So, your master," quizzed Vlad, "He's...interested in kidnapping people, then?"

"We all need our hobbies, Mr. Masters," nodded the old man.

The two men entered the study.

The master was seated at his desk, scribbling into a book. He was surrounded by a variety of ornaments – busts, paintings, rare artefacts and even a scale model of a V2 rocket on his desk.

"Mr. Grim."

Ovard Grim looked up and grinned.

"Mr. Masters," he nodded, "Sit. We need to discuss things of great importance. You're dismissed, Bob."

The old man nodded, put down the crate and walked away.

Grim grinned as he got up, taking a wrench out of his drawer.

"Forgive me for getting right to it," he said, "But we have matters of great importance to discuss."

He began to unbolt the box.

"You are working with the Witchfinders, am I right?" he asked.

"What remains of them," nodded Vlad, "Why? What is your stake in this? You're a scrap merchant!"

"In the daytime," admitted Grim, "But I run a few other businesses on the side."

He opened the box. A gremlin was huddled in the corner, looking up at Grim in terror.

"So, you want to reign from the shadows?" sniffed Vlad.

"The most powerful man is the one you've never heard of," admitted Grim, admiring his acquisition, "He who writes the minutes of a meeting decides what happened there."

"Stalin," noted Vlad, "That's a Stalin quote."

"Indeed, good catch," said Grim, "Why be publicly loathed when one can have a patsy to take the hit for them?"

He chuckled to himself.

"But I get the sense your partnership with Mr. Cromwell isn't about power, is it?" he asked.

"It's about revenge," nodded Vlad, "Nothing more, nothing less."

"Quite," nodded Grim, grabbing the gremlin by the neck and standing up, "Jack Fenton, am I right?"

Vlad cringed.

"Somehow, I doubt Cromwell cares for that," mused Grim, "And I doubt you two are working alone."

He sat back at his desk, stuffing the gremlin in a drawer and closing the drawer.

"Care to elaborate?"

"What, so you can act as some kind of information broker?" snapped Vlad.

"Knowledge is power," shrugged Grim, "And wealth. And besides, perhaps it can be an insurance policy."

"What do you mean?" demanded Vlad.

"Well, let's say this gets out, this whole...murder vendetta you have going," Grim shrugged, "Plus, working with a disgraced agent of a banned organisation. The public would be...unsympathetic, don't you think?"

"What do you want?" snapped Vlad.

"Information," replied Grim, "On the witches. That could be worth quite a lot, in the right markets."

Vlad scowled.

"Very well," he sighed, "Listen closely..."

* * *

It was raining by the time Vlad left.

Grim watched from his window as the billionaire's limo drove away. He sneered and turned to his phone. He pressed one.

"_Mr. Grim?_"

"Pass the following on to Dr. Insano," said Grim, "He wanted some...information dealt and is paying liberally."

"_Middle man?_"

"Oh certainly, can't have it traced back to me," nodded Grim, "Oh, and excuse the noise – I'm doing a little 'biology.'"

He looked down at the Gremlin, now strapped to his desk (which was covered by a cloth). He chuckled to himself and pulled out a scalpel.

"Now, write this down, Bob..."

* * *

So, Grim is now a villainous middleman. What do you think?


	20. 20 10 13: American and Canadian Warfare

Zim'sMostLoyalServant requested a history of America at war ala my British one this year. I was going to do that, but ended up overdoing the French and Indian War and the Revolution, so I decided to roll with it and just do a description of them and the War of 1812. Hope you like!

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** All signs point to yes. :| Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Well, I certainly hope so. =P Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Well then, here's hoping I won't disappoint. :) Thanks for the review!

* * *

**20/10/13: An Early History of American and Canadian Warfare**

Because it was requested and I'm a nice guy.

American warfare, going by the narrow definition of armed conflict taking place between the Rio Grande and the forty-ninth parallel, goes back eons, but once again we're using the European definition of warfare that's apparently superior because guns. So we'll start this off from about 1754. Yes, there were conflicts before this, but the French and Indian War (or the Seven Years War, if you're Prussian) was basically the genesis of the modern USA, so that's as good a starting point as any.

The French and British had been unofficially fighting for control of the Ohio Valley since the 1740s, but it wasn't an 'official' war until George Washington (yes, _that_ Washington) fired the first shot in 1754. Even then, war between Britain and France wouldn't be declared until 1756. It was a confusing war.

Anyway, the British and the colonists started by sending General Edward Braddock and his forces off to take a French fort, Fort Duquesne, Braddock had just come over from Britain and expected a European War – the ensuing engagement has come to be known as 'Braddock's Defeat', which should tell you just how well that went. With Braddock and nine-hundred Regulars (British Army soldiers) dead and the French (under the command of the brilliant Marquis de Montcalm) making off with all of his cannon, the colonists were mightily underwhelmed by the aptitude of 'the mother country.'

Things followed in this dismal pattern for the first half of the war. British gains were small and usually quickly retaken. The next really big battle would occur in 1758, where the British General Abercromby launched an 'inspired' full frontal assault on Fort Ticonderoga in broad daylight and promptly had most of his command killed or wounded. Then, in 1759, London sent a bloke named Wolfe.

James Wolfe is a controversial fellow. Some think he was brilliant, some think he was lucky and some think he got his jollies from bayoneting Highlanders, but it cannot be denied that an army under his command changed the course of history. After his forces were landed by the Royal Navy (sailing a ocean-going fleet up the St. Lawrence River, something the French called impossible and fleet navigator James Cook called a pleasure cruise), he managed to get his whole army up a sheer cliff and set up in battle order outside Quebec City before anybody knew they were there.

The following day, the French and Canadian colonists marched on Wolfe's forces. The British replied with the most significant single volley of fire in history of the continent (which is admittedly a pretty narrow superlative.) One timed shot from maybe seven-thousand well-trained redcoats tore right into the French forces, and – well, that was the end of that.

The war ended in 1763 with the establishment of British hegemony over North America. It was at this point that the Americans began to turn against their oppressors – which was a tad mean, given that said oppressors had fought a war against France which they had started, but that's life. In any case, the British Government did not help matters by going out of their way to annoy the colonists, with the Intolerable Acts and the taxes and oh god with the representation.

By the Boston Massacre took place (which wasn't _quite_ a massacre and everyone involved was acquitted, but was still quite a public relations disaster), revolution was fairly certain. It broke out at Lexington and Concord in 1775, and the first major engagement was the Battle of Bunker Hill, which actually took place on Breed's Hill but that's not the point. The British General Gage, severely underestimating his opponents, essentially sent his troops marching into withering and accurate Patriot fire and got a whole bunch of people killed for no reason – this would soon become a running thing.

Things looked bad for the Patriots at first – despite his famous victory at Trenton, General George Washington was forced back from New York and ended up encamping his forces at the Valley Forge, where they were promptly attacked by winter. Fortunately for history, all the good orators were on their side, and they could present their cases to the great powers of Europe. The Declaration of Independence turned the war from a simple British rebellion to a cause for all the classical liberals of Europe to rally behind – it gained the Continental Army the assistance of the Marquis de Lafayette, Baron von Steuben and other such persons.

Then Saratoga happened. Turns out sharpshooters work pretty well.

Saratoga was the turning point of the war. France joined on the Patriot side (which was great for them but horrible for Louis XVI in the long run), the Royal Navy failed to supply the British and the main British Army surrendered at Yorktown. The Treaty of Paris in 1783 ended the war, freeing the thirteen colonies on the East Coast of North America from British rule. The United States was now a thing.

The British, however, had maintained the colonies in Canada. Many loyalists had moved there, but the Americans eyed it hungrily. Inevitably, they'd try to take it.

Their attempt came in 1812, at the height of the Napoleonic Wars. The Royal Navy, short of manpower, had elected to stop American merchant vessels and pressgang their sailors, with was something of a no-no in Washington. Presented with the _casus belli_ they needed, US forces marched into Canada.

The British should not have been able to hold Canada. Sure, they had a hardy force of regulars and Tecumseh's Native American troops as allies, but there were more Americans and they were operating right next to their supply bases. There were just two problems – the Canadian colonists were hardier than expected, and the American generals were breathtakingly incompetent. A series of battles were fought, and while Toronto did burn, Canada was saved.

The naval war went much better for the Americans, with their frigates consistently bettering their British opponents and forcing the Royal Navy to rework it's strategies. However, they couldn't stop the Royal Navy from landing a force on the American East Coast and burning the White House and all the public buildings in Washington. Still, credit where it's due, it was a very _civilised _pillaging.

Things really picked up for the US Army in 1814, with the victory at Plattsburg and the prevention of British advances into New England. The war ended later that year, but the news failed to reach New Orleans before a failed assault by the British cost five hundred regulars to the American's fifty. General Pakenham would have been kicking himself, but he was too dead to do so.

Anyway, so ends our discussion on the three wars that created the USA and it's hat. I may or may not continue this and do the nineteenth century, if only to see if writing about the Civil War really will spawn a lynch mob of angry Alabamans. Until that time, I leave you with E350's rule of warfare – full frontal broad daylight attacks never end well.

* * *

When will people learn, eh? I'm looking at _you_, Field Marshal Haig.


	21. 21 10 13: With Fire and Steel

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** You might even say it was Washington's thing! :D Thanks for reading.

**Gokiburi Prince:** I understand. :) Midterms are more important, anyway. Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Well, I'd cover those, then I'd make fun of both sides and make many many enemies! =) Thanks for the review.

**Solid Sun:** Well, quite - indeed, it ended up being completely pointless for both sides in the long run, because nobody actually got anything. Anyway, thanks very much!

**OddAuthor:** Oh, indeed, they were. And while I'm not entirely well-versed on the defense of Washington, I'm fairly certain that's what happened. Although most of the army were militia, so there's that. Anyway, thanks!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I'll see what I can do, but I have a few more requests I want to get done, so it all depends on time. Danke schon!

* * *

**21/10/13: With Fire and Steel**

The force Captain Fenton had at his disposal was small but quite diverse.

He had a handful of marines and ratings from the _Devonshire_, plus two dozen regulars of the British Army. This number was augmented by crewmen from the pirate vessel _Revenge_ and their captain, Captain Crocker. He also had a few gentlemen in green uniforms.

"You there!" he called to them, "Who are you?"

"95th foot, sir!" called on the men, "Rifles!"

Fenton nodded.

"Well then, rifles, cover our advance," he ordered, "We move up the rocks – bayonets ready, there will not be much room to manoeuvre up there..."

* * *

The Governor raised his brow as the Captain of the Guard dragged Timothy into his office.

"A boy," he noted, "Why is he in a gaol?"

"Theft of bread, sir," replied the Captain of the Guard.

"Ah, a vagrant," nodded the Governor, "Shan't be missed, I suppose. Still, I cannot help but find our...activities..._unseemly_ when performed on such a young boy. Find me someone else."

"And the boy?"

"Chain him up somewhere, I care not where," grunted the Governor, "Just...make sure he can see what we do."

He knelt down and looked Timothy in the eye.

"I apologise that you have to witness this," he said, "But innocence is fleeting, I suppose."

* * *

There were few better shots then a marine.

The sentries on the gaol walls were finding that out as they and the Rifles fired up at them, preventing them from putting effective fire on the advancing shore party. Fenton grinned, and reminded himself to thank Colour Sergeant Shortman later.

Now was not the time, however – the party had reached the gate, which quite predictably was shut.

"Captain!" he shouted, "Do your lads have any..."

"Move over," sneered Crocker, the hunchbacked man waving up two pirates.

The two men placed fused satchels in front of the gate and lit the fuses. They doubled back and the whole group took cover.

"Gunpowder?" quizzed Fenton.

**_BANG!_**

"Gunpowder," nodded Crocker.

"Right," grunted Fenton, "Men! Forward!"

The party advanced through the ruins of the wooden gate, right into the waiting bayonets of the defending blackcoats.

"Once more unto the breech," sighed Fenton, drawing his sabre.

* * *

The Governor looked out the window, his back to his terrified captive.

"You can always tell when the British attack," he mused.

He shook his head.

"Not because of the coats, mind you," he added, "They are no more conspicuous then the Frenchman's blue, or the Austrian's white. No, it's something else."

He smirked.

"It's the bayonet," he replied, "No army likes the bayonet more than that of England."

He breathed in the air, smelling the moisture gathering around.

"And here comes the rain."

* * *

"Rain, sir! Rain!" shouted Seaman Dash Baxter.

"I had not noticed, Mr. Baxter," grunted Fenton, rolling his eyes as he kicked a blackcoat off him.

Rain was never a good thing in a battle. It made the field wet and slippery, and damp powder made misfires a certainty.

"Into the cell blocks!" shouted Fenton, "It'll keep the powder dry!"

He and his men barrelled towards the cell block doors. Baxter hit the door first, smashing it open with his shoulder.

"Blimey, this place smells," a soldier cringed.

Fenton found himself standing in a cramped corridor surrounded by small cells. Slowly, he made his way down.

Prisoners were chained to the floors of their cells with heavy irons. They were all emaciated, and their only furnishings were hard cots. They were covered in crime and filth.

"...good lord," whispered Arnold, "This is horrible."

"It's a gaol," reminded Baxter, "It's supposed to be a punishment."

"This is too far," said Fenton, shaking his head at a small child literally chained by the arms to the cell wall, "It's barbaric."

"...all right, this will do, grab him."

Fenton heard a voice around the corner.

"Aye, captain, but I shall need a key."

Fenton, Baxter and Arnold crept round the corner.

A blackcoat officer – presumably the Captain of the Guard – and two soldiers were dragging a boy out of his cell. Fenton drew his pistol, Baxter and Arnold raising muskets.

"Unhand him."

The Captain of the Guard looked up at Fenton and his men, his backup raising their muskets.

"You heard him," snapped Arnold, "Drop the boy!"

The Captain sneered.

"Go to hell, redcoat."

There was a series of bangs. The Captain of the Guard and his men fell to the ground.

Fenton walked up to the downed officer as Arnold grabbed the now hysterical boy, attempting to comfort him.

"What are you doing here," demanded Fenton, "Why treat the convicts like this? Why fire on us? Why?"

The Captain of the Guard coughed.

"Didn't I say...go to hell?" he breathed.

With that, he expired.

"What now, sir?" asked Baxter.

Fenton clenched his fists as he turned around.

"We finish this."

* * *

The Governor looked at the clock, then at his captive.

"Well," he said, "I suppose the Captain isn't coming."

He sneered.

"But that's alright," he continued, "I have a second plan."

He pulled a dagger from his jacket. Timothy paled.

He was therefore surprised when the Governor walked over to his door and shouted at one of his guard.

"Go to the mine and bring me the first convict you see!"

* * *

_"Steady boys, just one more push!"_

Fire. Smoke. Rain.

_"Colour Sergeant! Mr. Baxter! The door!"_

A crash – shouts of fear and pain.

_"Company, forward!"_

Calls for help – for God, for mothers, for _him_ – all go ignored as he does his work.

Then the door opens.

* * *

_There was the enemy leader himself, standing next to the body of a convict chained to the floor of his ornate office. He was carrying a dagger, and strange symbols were etched in blood on the wooden floor._

_"Jesus Christ," one of the infantryman breathed._

_"You are under arrest in the name of His Majesty King George the Third," snapped Fenton, pointing his blade at his foe, "For the crimes of extortion, fraud and murder of British subjects."_

_"How do you justify this?" the infantryman breathed again, gazing down at the corpse._

_The Governor simply glanced at his window._

"I fear there is no justification you will accept, Captain," he replied simply.

"I don't suppose there is," snarled Fenton.

"Sir!"

One of the infantrymen had found a boy, chained to the clock and muttering to himself in shock.

"Free him," snapped Danny.

The infantryman nodded, taking the bayonet off his rifle and hacking at a link in the chains.

"Can I expect you to come quietly?" demanded Fenton.

"No sir," replied the Governor, "I'm afraid you really can't."

In a sudden movement, he thrust his dagger into his stomach. There was a shot, and he fell to the ground.

Fenton glanced at the second infantryman, his musket smoking.

"I really don't think that was necessary, private," he grunted.

"Sorry, sir."

Fenton nodded and knelt down over the Governor's dying form.

"Well, that certainly has not helped you," he noted.

"Oh, but it helps me a great deal, Captain," sneered the Governor, "This life is fleeting, I'm sure you know...but the _next_ is an opportunity."

"I doubt God will be forgiving," snarled Fenton.

"God won't have a hand in it," replied the Governor, "My destiny is my own. I have seen to that."

And with that, the Governor died.

* * *

_Dispatch to London from HMS _Devonshire_;_

_Governor is dead, convicts reclaimed and are being sent on to New South Wales. Gov. Macquarie indicates that pardons may be offered. Full list of dead sailors and troops enclosed. Recommend dynamiting fort remains._

_D. Fenton, Captain_

"Well, that was grim."

Danny shrugged as he put the papers back in his dad's file cabinet.

"Eh, if I can pass history on it, it's good enough for me," he said.

"True," nodded Sam, "Still, it'd make for a heck of a horror..."

She was interrupted by the doorbell.

"Hold on, I should get that," sighed Danny.

He walked out of the room, leaving Sam alone.

Danny soon arrived at his front door, and opened it.

"No, for the last time, the ghost weapons are not..."

He was cut off as a parcel was forced into his hands.

"You don't have much time! Read it!"

Then the door was shut and Danny was alone.

"...odd."

He shrugged and walked upstairs, looking at the label on the parcel.

"Sam? Do you know anything about 'El Dorado?'"

* * *

*dramatic music*


	22. 22 10 13: The Day that Shepard Died

This is nowhere near as funny as I thought it would be. Sorry chaps.

Parody of American Pie by Don McLean.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor: **Of course he did, he's a nice bloke. :) Thanks for reading!

**Cartoonatic55:** I admit, it's a hobby of mine. :D Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I think you may end up being surprised, actually. ;) Thanks for the review!

* * *

**22/10/13: The Day that Shepard Died**

A long, long time ago...  
I can still remember  
how that series used to make me smile,  
And I knew if I played it right,  
I'd get these people through their fight,  
And that'd make me happy for a while.

But March Fifteen, it made me shiver,  
With every asset I'd deliver,  
The forums were all livid,  
I couldn't comprehend it,  
I can't remember if I cried  
When I found out BioWare had lied,  
But something withered deep inside,  
The day that Shepard died.

So bye-bye to the _Normandy_ guys,  
Farewell Ilos, farewell Nihlus, and god damn that AI,  
The Illusive Man and his bizarre-looking eyes,  
This'll be the day that they die,  
This'll be the day that they die.

Have you heard the story clean,  
Of a young and wealthy Florentine,  
Who was Italia's only hope?  
Who held a hidden blade and gun,  
And hung with sacrilegious nuns,  
And even had a fistfight with the Pope.

And you know what he found in that vault,  
A past erased by sun's assault,  
You took the apple down,  
Yeah you hid it under the ground,

Then Connor hid amongst the greens,  
And struck down soldiers from the trees,  
But Haytham brought him to his knees,  
The day that Shepard died.

He was singing  
Bye-bye to the _Normandy_ guys,  
Farewell Ilos, farewell Nihlus, and god damn that AI,  
The Illusive Man and his bizarre-looking eyes,  
This'll be the day that they die,  
This'll be the day that they die.

For too long we've been underground,  
While the radiation trickles down,  
But that's not how it used to be,  
While Europe fought the Resource Wars,  
And powers beared atomic jaws,  
The atom bombs, they waited to be freed.

Then a bomb went off on some marines,  
We were forced to watch the ugly scene,  
The SAS were called  
On a bridge they all were sprawled.

And while Willy Pete flew through the sky,  
Onto the wreck that was Dubai,  
And on Konrad called us on our lie,  
The day that Shepard died.

He was singing  
Bye-bye to the _Normandy_ guys,  
Farewell Ilos, farewell Nihlus, and god damn that AI,  
The Illusive Man and his bizarre-looking eyes,  
This'll be the day that they die,  
This'll be the day that they die.

I met a girl up in the sky,  
And I asked why these people lie,  
But she just smiled and turned away.  
I went down to the old game store,  
Where'd I'd bought my first games years ago,  
But the mall guide said the store had gone away.

And on the web, the users flamed,  
The fans all cried and the critics blamed,  
But no reply was given,  
And one by one, they gave in.

And the series that I thought so bold,  
Has left me standing in the cold,  
In my heart was drilled a hole,  
The day that Shepard died.

Bye-bye to the _Normandy_ guys,  
Farewell Ilos, farewell Nihlus, and god damn that AI,  
The Illusive Man and his bizarre-looking eyes,  
This'll be the day that they die,  
This'll be the day that they die.

Bye-bye to the _Normandy_ guys,  
Farewell Ilos, farewell Nihlus, and god damn that AI,  
The Illusive Man and his bizarre-looking eyes,  
This'll be the day that they die.

* * *

"Man, that was nowhere near as funny as I thought it would be," I said, staring at the screen, "In fact, I think I just had a sad."

"So, you're gonna write a different story, then?" quizzed Sandy.

"Are you _kidding?_" I exclaimed, "It's ten at night! It'll do!"

"Maybe you should add a joke at the end," shrugged Danny, "You never know, it could work.

"That it could," I nodded thoughtfully, "Right, funny joke...funny joke..."

I clicked my fingers.

"I know! Random robot transformation!"

_"No."_

"Fine," I pouted.

* * *

ALL BETTER

This week's word is Chess, which will be our last word. Due date is November 15.

EDIT: Didn't like the ending joke, so I altered it.


	23. 23 10 13: Wolf

You can thank el-thorvaldo from dA for request this one. ...and also another Spongehammer 40k, when I can think of what to do with it.

Anyway, review replies;

**OddAuthor:** I'd hope so, I ruse that one a lot. =D Anyway, thanks for reading!

**Night-Waker:** And yet they never learn, do they? :| Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55:** Oh, most assuredly yes! :) Thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** I haven't read that series. How bad was the ending? Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Eh, you can't always win. :) Thanks!

**Autobot-Outcast:** Great! Now I'm going to need to charge you for that sad... Danke Schon!

* * *

**23/10/13: Wolf**

"Good evening."

Timmy stirred as the sheet was pulled off of his head.

"...wha? Where am I?" he muttered.

His vision began to clear, and he realised he was sitting in a well-furnished lounge next to a large window, where he could clearly see a mountain range illuminated by the late afternoon sun. Across from him, a familiar billionaire was sitting in a recliner, watching over him.

"_Vlad_," he snarled.

"Oh, no need to get all defensive, Timothy," sneered Vlad, "You are, after all, in no particular danger. We're just taking part in an..._experiment_."

"Experiment?"

"Yes," nodded Vlad, glancing at his watch, "It's...uh...quarter to five, so I'd say we have about an hour until sundown. By that time, I'm sure your merry band of idiots will be here to rescue you."

"So what? What the heck's the point of this?" demanded Timmy.

"The point, Timothy, will become clear soon enough," replied Vlad.

He pulled a small yellow flower from his suit pocket.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"A flower?"

"Aconitum vulparia," said Vlad, "_Wolfsbane._"

He gazed out the window.

"One of your friends is a wolf, Timothy," he said, "And I intend to find out which."

* * *

The Ghost Assault RV rocketed down the dirt trail towards Vlad's Colorado retreat.

Inside, Jimmy was pacing up and down the vehicle (with some difficulty, due to the uneven road), going over the plan for the last time.

"Alright people," he snapped, "Vlad's taken one of our own. This will _not_ stand! Does everybody know what they need to be doing?"

"We go in, we kick his butt, we go out, nice and simple," Danny replied confidently.

"Are you _sure_ you don't need a more detailed plan?" Jazz called back from the steering wheel.

"Well, let's put it this way," said Jimmy, "There's six of us..."

He motioned to Danny, Spongebob, Cosmo and Wanda.

"_...plus_ the Spectre Speeder going in through the woods," continued Jimmy, "And there's _one_ Vlad. We'll be fine."

"Actually, she does have a point," mused Spongebob, "Vlad _is_ pretty powerful..."

"We've fought him before and we know his weaknesses," reassured Danny, "I'm not saying it'll be _easy_, but we'll do it."

"Whatever you say, Danny," sighed Jazz.

Jimmy looked at his watch – ten past five. They'd be there within the hour.

* * *

"Can somebody tell me whose _brilliant_ idea it was to take the Spectre Speeder through the _dense woods?_" demanded Sam.

The Speeder party had been forced to abandon their vehicle amongst the trees. Tucker had been tasked with carrying the flashlight, as the forest was getting darker and darker. Behind him, Sam and Sandy were arguing about their predicament.

"Hey, it was Jimmy's idea, not mine," snapped Sandy, "'Sides, we ain't that far out."

"Yeah, well I'd like to get there before it gets dark," muttered Sam.

"I thought you _liked_ the dark, Sam," chuckled Tucker.

"Not in the middle of the woods," snapped Sam.

Tucker rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch. It was now twenty past five.

* * *

Vlad stood outside his retreat, looking at his watch. Timmy was cuffed to the locked door, trying fruitlessly to pull himself free.

"Y-you're making a big mistake here, Vlad!" shouted Timmy, grunting as he strained against the cuffs.

"Oh am I?" quizzed Vlad, "You forget, I've been doing this for twenty years. There are few more qualified in the field of the supernatural then I."

"Guess one of them's Jack Fenton, huh?" retorted Timmy.

Vlad scowled and clenched his fists.

"Ha! Knew that'd get to you," grinned Timmy.

At that moment, a crashing sound began to drift in the wind.

"Speaking of Jack Fenton," snarled Vlad.

The Fenton Ghost Assault RV burst from the trees, skidding to a halt in front of the mansion. The door burst open, and Danny, Jimmy and Spongebob leapt out.

"Drop him, Vlad!" snapped Danny.

"Oh, are we skipping right to the point, then?" sniffed Vlad, "Shame – I miss the banter. It's very droll, but it has its charms..."

"I'm not gonna ask you again, Plasmius," snarled Danny, changing into ghost form. Behind him, Sam, Tucker and Sandy emerged from the wilderness.

"Very well," nodded Vlad, shifting to Plasmius form, "I shall let him go on one condition – which of you is the werewolf?"

"Werewolf?" exclaimed Jimmy, "Have you finally lost it, Masters?"

"Don't take that tone with me," snarled Vlad, "I have it on good intelligence that one of you is a lycanthrope. My contact was very specific, but he neglected to say exactly whom. You want Turner freed? Tell me what I want to know."

"Read my lips, Vlad," shouted Danny, "Nobody's a werewolf!"

"Well, I suppose we'll find out," nodded Vlad, "In about...five seconds?"

Timmy looked up.

The sun was slinking behind the horizon, and above them the clouds were parting. A silver light illuminated their edges.

"Oh no," Timmy whispered.

Then the full moon appeared.

Timmy began to seize up, panting heavily as he backed up against the door.

"Uh, Timmy?" asked Spongebob, "You okay?"

Vlad turned around to look at his captive.

"What?" he quizzed, "But my contact _said_ it wasn't..."

Timmy's eyes turned yellow.

He leapt forward, the cuffs snapping like twigs as his body began to change. His arms grew thicker and his fingers began to merge together. His nose and mouth shifted into a muzzle and fur began to erupt from his skin. His teeth sharpened and claws extended from his new paws. His ears shifted upwards and began to stick out of his head. His shirt was torn from his body.

All this happened in about three seconds.

Vlad had no time to react before the werewolf was on him, pinning him to the ground and lunging at him with teeth and claws. He tried desperately to force him off, but the wolf much stronger then he was. His life flashed before his eyes.

"Hey, wolfie! Get off him!"

The wolf looked up. Danny and Jimmy were walking up to him, ectobeam and blaster charged respectively.

"Fruitloops aren't good for you, Timmy!" shouted Jimmy, "Now calm..."

The wolf tore himself from Vlad (who had now passed out), lunging at Danny and Jimmy. The two paled and tried to jump out of the way, but Jimmy was too slow. With a crash, the wolf hit him, sending him flying into a tree and knocking him out.

"Hey, no throwing your friends!" snapped Danny, "That's antisocial!"

Danny went for the wolf, trying an uppercut to the jaw. The hit barely affected him, but it certainly attracted his attention. A claw was soon up against Danny's chest, slamming him into the RV.

"Danny!" exclaimed Jazz, still in the driver's seat.

Danny found himself looking his opponent right in the face. The wolf was snarling and salivating, his teeth bared. Not a drop of pity could be seen in its eyes. The ghost could feel pain in his chest as the wolf's claws dug right in.

_Oh my god, I'm gonna die,_ Danny thought.

He hit the windshield with his fist.

"Start it up!" he yelled, "_Now!_"

Then he was torn from the RV and slammed into the ground.

A rock hit the wolf in the back.

"Leave him alone!"

Spongebob was standing by the door of the RV, throwing rocks at the wolf.

The wolf snarled again, and began to lunge for Spongebob. He screamed and shut his eyes.

He felt something pulling him. He began to regret everything he had never done.

Then he realised he'd been pulled _backwards_, and opened his eyes.

He had been dragged into the RV by Sandy as the Speeder party had made for the vehicle. The door was locked, but it was starting to buckle under the wolf's pounding.

"_Start it up!_" thundered Sam.

"I can't!" shouted Jazz, "It keeps stalling!"

"We're all gonna die," whimpered Cosmo, "We-we're all gonna..."

"Let me try something!"

Wanda was standing against the door.

"I can get through to him," she explained, "I can't make him stop!"

"You can't reason with it!" snapped Sandy, "It's an animal!"

Wanda ignored him.

"Timmy, for goodness sakes, calm down!" she shouted.

The wolf continued to bang on the door. The hinges began to groan.

"We're your _friends_!" Wanda implored, "Is this any way to treat the people who care about you? Timmy..._look at me._"

There was another smash. The RV shook.

"I said _look at me!_" thundered Wanda, "_Now!"_

The wolf looked up at the window, preparing for the final blow against the door. His eyes met Wanda's.

He stopped.

"Timmy, it's _me_," pleaded Wanda, "I'm not your enemy."

"...and, uh, I'm here too," gulped Cosmo, edging cautiously towards the door.

The wolf blinked. His eyes turned blue.

"_What have I done?_" Timmy whimpered.

He let go of the door and began to bound away into the woods.

"Wait, Timmy!" exclaimed Wanda, "Come back!"

"Too late," sighed Sam, "He's gone."

Outside, Danny rolled over and pushed himself up on one elbow. He groaned.

"This mission just got a _lot_ more complicated," he sighed.

* * *

Timmy ran through the trees, desperate to get away from the damage he had done. His mind flashed back.

_"Okay, so...would you rather be a werewolf or a vampire?"_

_"_Really_, Chester?"_

_"You got a better question, _AJ?_ Anyway, werewolf or vampire?"_

_"Um...werewolf I guess. I mean, you've got the strength, you've got the wolf instincts and you don't burn up in sunlight...or sparkle for that matter. What do you think, Timmy?"_

_"Heck yeah! Wish _I_ was a werewolf..."_

In his head, he cursed himself. How could he be so _stupid? _Why did he use those words specifically? Why?

He skidded to a halt as he reached a spring. He looked down at the glassy surface – at what he had become.

_This can't be me...it can't be..._

But no matter how much he willed it, no matter how much he _wished_ it, his reflection stayed the same.

And so he howled.

* * *

Well, Vladdie, that certainly went well.


	24. 24 10 13: Little Shop of Parodies

Well, um...it's not Spongehammer but, uh, it does have Necrons!

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** Thanks, that really means a lot. :) Incidentally, I did look back at that one after I wrote the new one. Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor:** I know, right? Some people never learn. :) Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Uh, well, uh VLAD PLANTED THE WOODS HIMSELF! :| Thanks for the review!

**Autobot-Outcast:** To be fair, Vlad has _reliable_ sources. Albeit, we don't know _who_, but they were reliable. =P Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Nothing wets the appetite like a good arse kicking. :D Thanks!

* * *

**24/10/13: Little Shop of Parodies**

_To Whom It May Concern (by that, we mean you),_

_As you may (or may not) be aware, your father/mother/UNCLE/aunt/clone/misc. relation has recently died of bubonic plague/first-degree murder/accidental self-immolation/SOMETHING UNEXCITING. Your name has turned up in HIS/her will, and you are therefore the owner of the following;_

_...1x slightly shady arcade at the edge of town that's been closed for years [Finn's Arcade]._

_...20x dollars._

_We are very SORRY/relieved FOR/with his loss._

_With regards,  
Mr. [EMPLOYEE NAME HERE]  
Apathetic Insurance_

* * *

Spongebob and Sandy stood outside the creepy old arcade on the edge of an unspecified town.

"So, you own this now," nodded Sandy, "Never saw you as a landlord, y'know..."

"A landlord," said Spongebob, smiling, "Does that mean I can have land-peasants?"

"...no."

"Aww..."

Spongebob sighed and took the key from his pocket, unlocking the door.

The arcade was covered in dust, and most of the old machines were gone (save for the 1982 E.T. game, which no sane man would take). The only thing that stuck out was a larger machine with a post-it note attached.

"Well, that settles it," nodded Spongebob, "_Definitely_ not gonna be a vacation home."

"What's that note say?" mused Sandy.

The two walked up to the machine. Sandy rubbed some dust from the note.

_MOST CERTAINLY NOT A SECRET PASSAGE._

"Well, I know what it _isn't_," said Spongebob, "Thank you, post-it note!"

Sandy rolled her eyes and put a coin in the coin slot. With an ominous groan, the machine moved, revealing a secret room.

"The note lied to me," whispered Spongebob, feeling betrayed.

"Come on," grunted Sandy, pulling the sponge into the room.

The room was small, consisting of a screen, a seat and what looked like a gigantic laser. It was also unnecessarily poorly lit.

"I'm guessin' we shouldn't be touching that," mused Sandy, looking at the laser.

_Beep._

Spongebob had starting pressing buttons on an exposed panel.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was pressing buttons," he said, "You were saying?"

The laser began to glow.

"You can be a real idiot sometimes, you know that?" sighed Sandy.

"Well, at least I'm lovable," shrugged Spongebob.

The laser fired.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Spongebob and Sandy were hiding behind a ruined wall in a wrecked building. Both were wearing jumpsuits with glowing lines on them.

"Okay," mused Sandy, "I can understand the laser thing, even if it is scientifically impossible. I can understand the weird glowy jumpsuits..."

"I _like_ mine," protested Spongebob.

"What I _don't _get is the robot army chasing us," finished Sandy.

On the other side of the wall, an army of skeletal metal robots with long, green guns – Necrons – were advancing across a ruined battlefield, a familiar figure at their head.

"They said I could be anything I wanted," mused Overlord Dash Baxter of the Lolwatroflmao Dynasty, "So I became a Necron Overlord."

Spongebob peeked over his cover.

"Hold on," he said, "I have an idea."

He leapt out of cover, holding a glowing disc in his hand.

"Stay back!" he shouted, "I have a magic Frisbee!"

"We have _guns_, genius," grunted Dash.

"...oh yeah."

Spongebob leapt back behind cover as the Necrons opened fire.

"Any other bright ideas?" asked Sandy, rolling her eyes.

"Cease and desist."

Spongebob and Sandy jumped as a suited individual spontaneously appeared behind him.

"Squidward?" gulped Spongebob.

"Agent Tentacles," corrected Squidward, "Overlord Baxter, your Necrons cannot have this idiot..."

Spongebob grinned.

"...because he is _mine_."

Spongebob stopped grinning.

"Oh yeah," snapped Dash, "What makes you think that?"

"Purpose."

Dash facepalmed.

"No, please don't..." he groaned.

"It is purpose that created us..." began Squidward.

"Shut up," whimpered Dash.

"...purpose that connects us..."

"Shut up."

"...purpose that pulls us, that guides us, that drives us..."

"Shut up."

"...it is purpose that defines us, purpose that binds us..."

"_Shut up! _You are so _self-righteous_ and that doesn't make any _sense!_" exclaimed Sandy, "I mean, we just _met!_"

"We've known Squidward for years," Spongebob pointed out.

"Not _this_ Squidward," reminded Sandy.

"Oh yeah."

Squidward crossed his arms.

"I don't care anymore," he grunted, "Look, we have Necrons, and we have Agents. What happens next?"

"We fight it out?" said Dash, hopefully.

"Unfortunately, yes."

There was a brief pause.

Then a great big army of Agents came rushing out of nowhere onto the battlefield, colliding with the Necrons in a great row of kung-fu against Necron blade flaying. I assure you sir, it was really cool. In fact it was _so _cool that I cannot possibly describe it, as no words can capture it's sheer awesome. Sorry about that.

Anyway, while they were fighting, Spongebob and Sandy slipped away, running down into a dark basement.

"Uh...can we turn on a light? I can't see," complained Spongebob.

Sandy struck a match.

A tall, faceless man in a suit was standing right in front of them. They both screamed.

Then the man laughed and pulled off his mask.

"Don't worry, It's just me," said Wilt.

"Dagnabbit, don't do that!" snapped Sandy, "We thought you were..."

"Slenderman?" chuckled Wilt, "No, he's _behind_ you."

The duo turned around. The real Slenderman was standing in the shadows.

The two screamed again. Suddenly, everything turned to static...

* * *

Sandy shot up in her bed.

"Ah, geez," she sighed, "It was just a dream..."

She rolled over and took in the pure white test chamber.

..._wait._

She shot up, glancing around for an exit. She noticed Spongebob getting up next to her, but no sign of a door. She also noticed that they were both wearing orange jumpsuits.

"Ah _shoot_," she groaned.

"_Welcome_," a voice suddenly boomed, "_Cave Johnson here. Greg just wants me to go over a few things. Don't worry, it's all stand. First of all, the kidnapping by Slenderman is completely a legitimate way to get test subjects...as long as you _never_ tell the FBI._"

"Where the – who the heck is that?" demanded Sandy.

"_Second of all,_" continued Cave, _"That test chamber has been reused from another project, so you _may_ be breathing in a neurotoxin. That's okay, though, because we are seventy percent sure it only affects humans."_

Sandy glanced at Spongebob, who simply shrugged.

_"__Third of all, you _might_ be Terminators._"

"Wait, what?" exclaimed Sandy, "That doesn't even make an sense!"

There was the sound of paper rustling in the speak.

_"__You're right, it doesn't make any sense,_" agreed Cave, _"Who's writing this crap?"_

**...uh...that'd be me.**

"Where the heck is this story going?" demanded Sandy, "Because we did Tron and then we did Warhammer and the Matrix and..."

**Well, I...uh...I actually don't know. I'm making this all up on the fly, to be honest.**

"Well it's getting pretty silly," Spongebob pointed out.

**Yeah, it really is, isn't it? Look...um...let's just wrap this up on some massive twist and forget it ever happened, eh?**

"No, no more twists, I've had enough of those..." Sandy began.

_But then there were robots._

* * *

Cave Johnson, we're done here. Chariots chariots.


	25. 25 10 13: The Path of the Orinoco

Well, we're on the last stretch. Now to bring back some old friends...

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** ...or all of his clones could start playing _their_ clarinets. :O Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** In retrospect, I probably should have. Ah well, maybe next year. Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55: **Yeah, I thought you might. ;) Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Thank you, I aim to please! :D Thanks very much!

* * *

**25/10/13: The Path of the Orinoco**

The rain poured on Panama City.

Vlad looked out the window of the penthouse he had rented, seeing nothing more than grey clouds and drops of rain on the glass window. The wet season was well underway – it would not likely clear until December.

He would not be in Panama City for long. His fellows had gone to investigate the ruins of the old 17th century city, leaving him in the city as an alibi. Said alibi had involved buying up a few minor Panaman industries here and there, but they made a profit, so at least he'd gained something of it.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. Vlad walked over and answered it.

"Mr. Cromwell," he noted, "Would it have killed you to dry off first?"

Mr. Cromwell was dressed in a thick leather trenchcoat and hat – he was also dripping wet.

"This was too important, Mr. Masters," replied Mr. Cromwell, "We've found what we were looking for."

He reached into his coat and produced a small, folded piece of parchment.

"It was in a chest, perfectly preserved," elaborated Mr. Cromwell, "A map to El Dorado."

Vlad took the map and opened it.

"Well, I can't make sense of this," he muttered, "It's all in Spanish. _Archaic _Spanish."

"It's a path down the Orinoco River in Venezuela to it's supposed location," explained Mr. Cromwell, "It shows a small river that splits off to El Dorado. We need to follow that."

"How very _Apocalypse Now_," grunted Vlad, "But I don't understand – the Orinoco River is a major transport route, isn't it? Surely someone would notice a city of gold!"

"The map mentions requiring a...sorcerer to access the river," continued Mr. Cromwell, "There's an ancient incantation on the river that prevents it from being found. Evidently whoever wrote this map had one."

Vlad nodded, scratching his chin.

"So," he nodded, "Off to Venezuela, then?"

* * *

"You want to go _where?_"

Jazz Fenton stood in abject confusion as her benefactor (and magical mentor) Madame Athena explained her intentions. She had come into Jazz's Cambridge student apartment about a minute ago, stating that the fate of humanity rested on her going to South America _right now_, which seemed a bit confusing.

"Venezuela," repeated Athena, "One of the Witchfinders is looking for El Dorado."

"But the Witchfinders were destroyed!" reminded Jazz.

"Most of them," nodded Athena, "This one is a remnant thirsting for revenge. And he is working for a _very_ powerful individual...as well as one of your brother's enemies."

"Let me guess," Jazz spat, "It's Vlad, isn't it?"

"He and Morgan le Fay," finished Athena, "What her stake is, I cannot guess."

"OK, so we need to go to El Dorado," nodded Jazz, "Should I pack, then?"

Athena raised an eyebrow.

"You have no obligation to come, Jazz," she said.

"It's my world in peril, isn't it?" reminded Jazz, "What do I need?"

"Nothing, I already have supplies and an inside source into their actions," replied Athena, "Although he's...um...not entirely ideal."

A horn blared outside.

"Hurry up!" Jazz heard Dr. Insano shout, "We have witches to find! Do you know what I paid for this information, damn it?"

Jazz raised an eyebrow as Athena facepalmed.

* * *

"Okay, question," said Danny, looking down at the map spread out over his kitchen table, "Question one; how are we getting to South America?"

"Same way we get everywhere," replied Sam, "Spectre Speeder!"

"Question two; where are we gonna get a sorcerer from?" continued Danny.

Sam held up a book.

"I got this in a police auction in Springfield," she replied.

"So...you're gonna train as a witch?" quizzed Danny.

"Yes."

"Why not?" grunted Danny, rolling his eyes, "Question three; do we stop to pick up Tuck, or do we just go straight there?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine in San Diego," shrugged Sam, "What's the worst that can happen?"

* * *

Not far away, Valerie Grey was sitting in her bedroom, trying to finish her homework. Mr. Lancer had requested a two-thousand word essay on _War and Peace_, and it was due in tomorrow.

She jumped as something crashed against her window.

"Ghost!" she snarled, jumping to her feet, her ghost-hunting gear appearing around her body.

"No! Dragon! Jones the dragon!"

Outside the window was the face of a gigantic red Welsh dragon.

"Listen, you need to get to San Diego! It's an emergency!" shouted the dragon.

"What?" demanded Valerie.

"Get on my back!" exclaimed Jones, "There's no time to explain!"

"Why should I trust you?" snarled Valerie.

"Because if you _don't_," snapped Jones, "Bad bloody things are gonna happen! To that one boyo, what's his name...uh...Tucker Foley, and the little one...uh...you know, mini Phantom..."

"Dani?" quizzed Valerie, "You know her?"

"Yes, and she'll be in a lot o' bloody trouble if you don't help me!" shouted Jones, "Now come on!"

Valerie was still for a moment.

Then she opened the window.

"If this is a trick..." she snarled.

"Hey, us dragons are men of our word, y'know," snapped Jones, "Now hang on tight, will you?"

And with that, he soared off into the sky, headed due west.

* * *

I'm sure ComicCon is going to go really well.


	26. 26 10 13: Attack of the Cons

_*Lightning strike.*_

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** Well I certainly hope so! =P Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor:** Thanks for that, you just clued me in on a typo. Also, Jones was in HU3 - and it could be stranger, he could be called Jones the Steam. (I'll eat my hat if anyone gets that). Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Well, hopefully the writing. ;) Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I do so like to tie things together. :D And I had to bring those two back, didn't I? Thanks very much!

* * *

**26/10/13: Attack of the Cons**

_San Diego, California  
8am, ...um...Thursday  
A Hotel of Some Kind_

Tucker was in the corridor of the hotel, dressed in a long coat and eye patch – specifically, as Nick Fury. He was looking at his watch, waiting for the rest of his friends (and one antagonist) to get ready.

"Come on," he muttered, "Don't they know I have nerd things to do?"

At that moment, the door opened. Dani stepped out – she was also wearing an eye patch, as well as a military uniform with a Chinese nametag.

"...what're you supposed to be?" quizzed Tucker.

"Lan Xiurong," replied Dani.

"Who whatsit?"

"You know, member of the Scarlet Lancers – UN delegate – resistance fighter against Christos?"

"...I thought christos just wrote bad Star Wars fanfiction," said Tucker.

Dani sighed.

"It's from a forum," she sighed.

"_Riiight._"

"Anyway," continued Dani, "Two things you need to know. One, the fire department say there's some kind of 'unreality bubble' over the convention centre, but it's not life threatening. Two, the rest of the guys have already left down the fire escape. There's an...uh..._issue_ in the lobby."

"What kind of issue?" asked Tucker.

"Eh, nothing serious."

* * *

"I keep telling you!" exclaimed Paulina as the peasants dragged her out the door, "I'm not a witch!"

"Lies!" shouted the head peasant, waving his pitchfork, "That man over there said ye was one!"

E350 blinked.

"Um, actually I said she was a-"

* * *

"-bit of a line, but we're in," nodded Jimmy, adjusting his scarf (he was dressed as the Fourth Doctor), "So, where to first?"

"Movie panels!" shouted Sheen, dressed as Ultralord (as was his custom.)

"Are you sure?" mused Jimmy, "I actually wanted some of the artist..."

"_Movie panels," _Sheen repeated, threateningly.

"Fine," grunted Jimmy, "Come on."

He and Sheen wandered away, unaware that they were forgetting something.

"Alright guys, I'm back from the bathroom," said Carl (dressed as Charlie Brown), walking back to where his friends had been, "Now we can go enjoy the..."

He trailed off, realising that Jimmy and Sheen had deserted him.

"_Good grief_," he sighed.

* * *

Spongebob and Sandy were looking at one of the game booths. They were dressed as Darth Vader and Tali from _Mass Effect_ respectively, and both looked a bit bemused at what was being displayed.

"We here at Slacktivision," said the panellist, "Are always willing to improve on our consumer prod-I mean games. For example, take our newest product, Call of Honour: Battlefield, in which we added three new weapons and _slightly_ tweaked the graphical settings..."

"Why are we even watching this?" quizzed Sandy.

"Well, it's this or the Valve panel," shrugged Spongebob.

Across the hallway was a mostly empty panel, save for a massive sign proclaiming 'Half Life 3: We'll Get There When We Get There.'

"Yeah, I guess you're right," shrugged Sandy.

At that moment, she felt a tentacle on her shoulder. She turned around.

"Greetings, Earthlings!" exclaimed Kang, dressed in a Richard Nixon mask, "We are your former presidents!"

"Hello!" nodded Kodos, dressed in a Jimmy Carter mask.

"We demand to know the secrets of your..."

"Bathroom's that way," grunted Sandy.

"Thanks."

The two aliens slithered away.

"So," mused Spongebob, "Wanna find one of the others?"

"Sure, what's the worst that can happen?" shrugged Sandy.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen!" exclaimed Professor Frink, standing in front of two metal capsules in the middle of the 'Hall of Unnecessary Reboots', "Behold my latest invention – a teleported designed for the Fly reboot, with the mutants and the vomiting but not with the Goldblum!"

Ember (dressed as Hatsune Miku) rolled her eyes.

"Boring," she heckled.

Frink crossed his arms.

"I assure you, ma'am," he snapped, "These pods as 100% functional, _in-hey!_"

"Prove it," challenged Ember.

"Very well," nodded Frink, "Get in the pod."

Ember strode into the left pod.

"Alright, good luck poindexter," she sniffed.

Frink nodded and pressed a button. Both pods began to glow brightly.

"Now, if this machine works as intended," Frink explained to the rest of his audience, "The machine should..."

He trailed off.

Spongebob was standing outside the other pod, camera in hand. He looked very confused.

"What happened to Sandy?" he asked.

At that point, the light faded out. The crowd gasped.

"Oh..." Spongebob began.

"My..." continued some bloke in the crowd.

"_Glavin!"_ finished Frink.

The individual that stepped out of the left chamber was a tall, pale blue squirrel with a large ponytail. She crossed her arms.

"Way to go, genius," she snapped, her voice an eerie mix of Sandy's and Ember's talking at the same time, "Your dang machine works. Now tell me who the heck I am and how you can fix this."

Frink sighed.

"I'll get right on it," he sighed, muttering gibberish as he turned to the pods.

"We _could_ call you Samber," suggested Spongebob.

"Half of me thinks that's cute," grunted the hybrid, "The other half thinks you're a complete idiot."

"They're probably both right."

* * *

Timmy (dressed as Cleft) was rifling through some of the comic vendors. Behind him, Cosmo and Wanda (dressed as Fred and Wilma Flintstone) were feeding Poof (dressed as a balloon) and discussing the con.

"So," mused Wanda, "I have a question. What exactly does a tyrannosaurus have to do with Geek Culture?"

Not far away from them, a dinosaur was eating a panel as congoers ran for their lives.

"Oh, that's just Jurassic Park," shrugged Cosmo, "Stephen Spielberg is a _very_ ambitious guy."

"I'll say," nodded Wanda.

"And he makes a heck of a corndog," continued Cosmo, biting into his celebrity-made snack.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," said Tucker, staring at the DVD-like device displayed proudly in the cabinet, "This thing can play movies, watch TV, listen to radio and send your personal information back to LexCorp."

"It can," nodded the squeaky-voiced teenaged representative.

"What does that leave for gaming?" asked Tucker.

"Uh...you know, just about...um...six megabytes," shrugged the teen, "Maybe like Pong or something..."

"So the LexBox is a gaming console that can't play games," nodded Dani, "Sounds kinda stupid."

"It's not stupid!" snapped the representative, "It's _advanced!_"

"We'll pass," grunted Dani as she and Tucker moved on.

The teen bowed his head.

"Aw," he groaned, "I'm fired again, aren't I?"

* * *

"Well, how'd everybody go?" asked Jimmy.

The group had met up for lunch outside the convention centre, and were now eating hot dogs. Sandy and Ember were standing as far away from each other as physically possible, Sheen was blabbering on about trailers and Carl was just happy to be there.

"Eh, pretty good," shrugged Spongebob, "Some weird things happened, but we're fine."

"See?" grinned Tucker, "I _told_ you nothing could go wrong! Come on, who's awesome? I'll tell you who's awesome..."

"Am I speaking to Messrs. Turner, Squarepants and Neutron?"

A cloaked individual had approached them, his(?) face obscured.

"Uh...yeah, why?" quizzed Jimmy.

"No reason," replied the cloaked figure, "I just wanted you to..._relax_ for a moment."

His arms began to glow purple. Quite suddenly, their eyes became very heavy.

"Wha...what the..." muttered Timmy.

Then they all fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Far too easy," sniffed the cloaked individual.

Then there a puff of smoke and they were gone.

* * *

Paulina Torture Count: 2

Also, I made fun of Call of Duty and yet I've still preordered the next one because hypocrisy.


	27. 27 10 13: The Avalon Dispatches

Historical cameos and re-imagined legends, oh my!

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Wait, Vincent Price was in the Fly? [/movie ignorance] Anyway, thanks for reading, and don't worry, that review made perfect sense. :)

**Cartoonatic55:** Uh, no, they're...going to a barbeque! Yes, that'll do! Also, thanks for point out that typo. :) Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Yeah, anywhere else and he'd be jumped by security. ;) Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I know, they're quite fun to joke about, aren't they? :D Thanks very much!

**Autobot-Outcast:** There's always next year... Also, since I preordered Ghosts, I can't retort against that. ;) Thanks!

* * *

**27/10/13: The Avalon Dispatches**

The Fenton RV had been found by the police department outside ComicCon, turned onto its side and damaged severely. The area had been secured and the police were investigating the area for any sign of the vehicle's passengers – the only one found, Mr. Turner, was engaged in animated and unwelcome conversation with a police sergeant.

On a roof across the street, Valerie and Jones watched the proceedings.

"He's trying to throw us off," snarled Jones.

"Who is?" asked Valerie.

"The Witchfinder and his allies," replied Jones, "He's distracting the plods with this while he makes off with your friends."

"Okay, so let me get this straight," nodded Valerie, trying to wrap her head around what was going on, "These Witchfinders got beaten by you, Phantom and...uh...King Arthur at Camlann, right?"

"As I told you on the way," agreed Jones.

"So this guy is a remnant out for revenge," continued Valerie, "Why didn't you lock him up?"

"That was the British government's job," shrugged Jones.

"Of course," grunted Valerie.

"Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones!"

Valerie turned around. A bald man in a grey suit and a helmet stencilled 'ARP' was climbing up the fire escape.

"I keep telling you people, it's just Jones, lad," grumbled Jones, "_Mr._ Jones makes me feel so _old..._"

"Who is this guy?" asked Valerie.

"Warden of Avalon, ma'am," replied the ARP warden.

"King Arthur's very own FBI," elaborated Jones, "Or is it CIA? I can't keep up with all this modern politics..."

"Sir, you are requested on the Avalonian warship _Sovereign of the Seas_," continued the ARP warden, "Something about El Dorado, sir."

"Don't call me sir, I work for a living," grunted Jones, "We'll be right there, Warden."

* * *

HMS _Sovereign of the Seas_ was a large, three-deck, hundred-gun sailing warship, a type commonly known as a first-rate ship-of-the-line. Painted smartly in yellow and black, with the red ensign flown from her stern, she was a stately and smart-looking vessel.

Valerie watched it draw ever closer as she soared towards it on Jones' back.

"Isn't that a bit anachronistic?" he quizzed.

"The whole of Avalon's a bit old-fashioned," admitted Jones, "Still, it adds charm, doesn't it?"

Valerie shrugged.

"Right, this'll be a bit tight, with all that bleeding rigging and all," noted Jones, "Keep your head down, will you?"

He dived downwards, right under the ships rigging (nearly knocking a sailor from his rope) and onto the quarterdeck. A small gathering of officers in smart blue uniforms stood before him, almost all recoiling in shock.

"By _Jove!_" exclaimed one.

The leader of the officers (whose uniform was more elaborate and covered in medals) rolled his eyes.

"It is but a dragon, Hardy," he grunted.

Jones stood to attention as Valerie climbed off his back.

"Lord Nelson, Captain Hardy," he barked, "Jones reporting as ordered, sirs!"

There was a brief pause. Suddenly, Jones lightly tapped Valerie with his tail.

"Go on, girl, show some respect," he whispered.

"Oh! Uh...Valerie Grey, reporting!" exclaimed Valerie, snapping to attention.

Lord Nelson nodded.

"Welcome aboard," he said, "As you might have gathered, Her Majesty wishes to stage an expedition. You have been, so they say, volunteered."

"Milord, in due respect," began Jones, "We've been assigned to look for..."

"Cromwell, yes," nodded Lord Nelson, "This expedition directly concerns the blighter, so you will not be deserting your royally appointed duty..."

"Wait a minute," mused Valerie, turning to Jones, "Didn't you say King Arthur died?"

"A royal lineage," said Lord Nelson, speaking before Jones could, "Does not die out because one king falls."

The door to the Captain's cabin opened. Lord Nelson, Hardy, Jones and the naval officers immediately bowed as a woman emerged from the cabins, Valerie quickly following their lead.

The woman was pale, almost eerily so, with neck-length red hair and green eyes. She was dressed in plate armour, which had the texture of copper but was clearly stronger. Leather pouches ran along her hip – on her left was a longsword, on the right a Webley revolver. Two guardsmen in smart red uniforms and polished brass flanked her.

"Presenting Her Majesty Queen Guinevere I of Avalon!" shouted one of the guards.

Guinevere nodded.

"Rise," she ordered.

The officers, Jones and Valerie stood up.

"Jones," said Guinevere, looking up at the dragon, "Have you checked San Diego?"

"Already cleared, ma'am," nodded Jones, "No sign of Sir Daniel's companions."

"_Sir_ Daniel?" quizzed Valerie.

"A lot went down at Camlann," nodded Jones, "In any case, Cromwell's ahead of..."

"Cromwell is not the ringleader, Jones," corrected Guinevere, "He is but a lackey of a being more powerful then he could even comprehend. It is imperative that we prevent that being from unlocking the secrets of El Dorado."

"El Dorado's just a city of gold, isn't it?" quizzed Valerie.

"Isn't it..." Lord Nelson urged.

"Oh, yeah, uh, isn't it, ma'am," gulped Valerie.

"It doesn't matter, Horatio," said Guinevere, "I am not her queen."

She looked out to sea.

"El Dorado is more than a city of gold," she explained, "It is a place of powerful magic...and powerful curses."

She looked Valerie in the eye.

"Are you ready to enter the jungle, Valerie Grey?" she asked.

There was a long silence. Valerie could feel Guinevere's eyes piercing into her soul.

Then she replied.

"Born ready."

Guinevere grinned almost mischievously.

"Excellent," she nodded, "Captain Hardy, set a course for the Orinoco – we're going to El Dorado."

* * *

And now everyone is on the Road to El Dorado and OH MY GOD I JUST NOSTALGIA'ED ALL OVER THE THINGS


	28. 28 10 13: The Fiddley Canon Recap

Just a quick recap to make sure we're all up to speed.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Actually, Mr. Cromwell's just named after Oliver, he's not actually him. Also, thanks for clearing that up. :D Thanks for reading!

**Cartoonatic55:** _Laughably_ bad, you say? *adds movie to watch list* Also, yes I did just make a random reference to the DreamWorks movie about El Dorado! Thanks for reviewing.

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Here's hoping those details won't disappoint, then. :) Thanks for the review!

* * *

**28/10/13: The Fiddley Canon Recap**

Hello! I'm E350, writer-chimp of Halloween Unspectacular. For four years now, I have been forcing myself to regurgitate oneshots every day for the whole of October and somehow, I seem to have developed a universe within it. Therefore, today's document is a tongue-in-cheek retrospective for anyone who's a bit lost at this point. Given that I've just reintroduced Jones and Avalon into the thing, it's probably a good thing to do it now rather than later.

Just a quick note – things in italics are not considered canon by the author, ie; me.

So, without further ado...

**PREVIOUSLY ON HALLOWEEN UNSPECTACULAR!**

Eons ago, King Arthur and his nephew had a bit of a falling out. So they had a little fight at Camlann to settle their differences and _everybody died._ It's sort of like the Horus Heresy in 40k, except even worse because Arthur didn't even get a Golden Throne out of the deal. Anyway, mortally wounded, King Arthur left to recover on the mystical island of Avalon, pledging to return when Britain needed him again.

Centuries later in 1603, King James VI of Scotland was promoted to the position of King James I of England. He was a rather paranoid sort and established an elite corps of witch hunters, the Witchfinders General, charged with eliminating magical influence from Great Britain and the world. Well, one needs a hobby I suppose. After his supposed death in 1625, he was preserved, presumably by magic, underneath Berkeley Castle. Hypocrisy isn't a thing when you're King.

A few more centuries later in 1811, a man known only as the Governor established a working relationship with the 'Honourable' East India Company, taking in the Company's convicts. He quickly went rogue and was deposed and killed by a British expedition in his South Pacific fort. The leader of this expedition was Royal Navy Captain Daniel Fenton, an ancestor of Danny Phantom.

In the present, one Doctor Insano boarded a bus in Melbourne bound for the Sydney, the most hellish place imaginable. Why he was doing is has never been adequately explained and probably never will be. He ended up next to Squidward and elected to demonstrate a device called 'the Fiddley Thing.'

The Fiddley Thing is an ill-defined device capable of warping reality. It is the most ridiculously powerful thing I had ever dreamt up. This is demonstrated early on, with Insano turning Chester and AJ into those two red and white things that look like Pikachu but are not Pikachu, Spongebob and Sandy into robots (again), and Sam into a werelioness. None of these are never mentioned again and are reversed off-screen.

Insano and Squidward are ejected from the bus for smoking and end up sauntering around the vicinity of Albury looking at odd pubs. _According to HU1, there was then a battle with One-Winged Angel Dib, but that isn't considered canon due to the fact that Dib ended up dead._

Canon picks up again in HU2. Insano tried to get Sandy to fix the Fiddley Thing, getting her and Spongebob involved in this whole bizarre turn of events. The Fiddley Thing Mark 2 was introduced not long afterwards when Dr. Insano and Dr. Richtofen had a fight aboard the Ghan. Yes, this is a thing that happened.

_The HU2 finale isn't considered canon either, due to some kind of ascension thing and Insano and Dan both biting it._

Not long afterward, Danny won tickets for a magic show in a cereal box. The magician turned out to be a real sorceress named Madame Athena, who ended up taking Jazz on as an assistant (and getting her a scholarship in Cambridge – man, I wish that happened in real life). Meanwhile Insano went to space to find the centre of the universe (it eventually turned out that it was Milton Keynes). A few days later, Danny freed a dragon named Jones from a mine in North Wales.

The Witchfinder-Generals eventually discovered Athena and her new apprentice and sent three agents after them – Mr. Stuart and his men, Mr. Cromwell and Mr. Preston. They failed to catch Jazz but ended up chasing Timmy and the other protagonists halfway to Duxford before Insano saved them. Mr. Cromwell and Mr. Preston were injured in the chase.

Mr. Stuart would end up awakening James I with his boss, the Lord Protector. Meanwhile, Jones and Danny alerted King Arthur. Thus, a great big Avalonian army met the Witchfinders at Camlann. It was a rather nasty affair – both Mr. Stuart and the Lord Protector bought it, Jones was mortally injured and King Arthur ended up performing a heroic sacrifice, destroying himself and James in a burst of magic. This also brought Jones back to life. Yay!

Not long afterwards, Tucker and Dani decided to embark on a quest to attend the San Diego ComicCon. Roping the Usual Suspects into this plan (save Danny and Sam), they ended up on an epic road trip across North America because Timmy's Dad cannot drive. Also there was a police auction in Springfield and Sam got a spellbook.

Meanwhile, Vlad, Mr. Cromwell and the sorceress known to legend as Morgan le Fay teamed up with a mysterious being to find El Dorado and capture magical powers that could let them take revenge on Jack Fenton, Athena and Queen Guinevere respectively. The being then kidnapped Tucker and company in San Diego for reasons as yet unknown. Danny and Sam, Valerie and Jones, and Jazz, Athena and Insano all launched on their own quests to El Dorado to stop them.

And here we are, three shots away from the City of Gold.

It's not a complex universe, really. Just a weird one!

* * *

That was longer then I expected.


	29. 29 10 13: The Calm Before the Storm

And so we grow closer to the end.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Eh, it's fine, easy mistake to make. ;) Thanks for reading!

**Night-Waker:** I hope you do, I like it when people read my stuff! :D Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Yay coincidence! :D Indeed, you shall find out - sooner then you think. Thanks for the review!

**Autobot-Outcast:** It is, it is. It barely makes sense in two pages. ;) Thanks very much!

**Cartoonatic55:** They're fun to write, too! Thanks!

* * *

**29/10/13: The Calm Before the Storm**

The hooded being was feeling fairly calm.

He(?), his team and their captives (locked in the hold) were headed downriver on a yacht (Vlad's property – having a rich man on side had its uses). The sun was out, the Orinoco was calm – but in the distance, dark clouds steadily approached.

Why did it always rain in times like this?

Vlad and Mr. Cromwell were standing at the bow of the yacht, discussing some navigational issue. Both were feeling the effects of the heat – Vlad had switched from a formal suit to a light buttoned shirt, while Mr. Cromwell had discarded his overcoat and vest and loosened his tie.

The hooded being couldn't help but smirk at this. After all, he was wearing a heavy cloak and yet he wasn't feeling the effects of the sun at all.

A door opened, and Morgan entered the bow area.

"We're nearly there," she announced, "Prepare to head left in a mile."

"You mean 'port'," corrected Mr. Cromwell.

Morgan glared at him. The Witchfinder shrugged.

"Excellent," nodded the being, "Mr. Cromwell, take over the helm – Morgan, Mr. Masters, remain on lookout duty. Our time is nearly at hand."

* * *

Danny was feeling fairly calm.

The Spectre Speeder had just crossed the Gulf of Mexico and was now flying low over the Orinoco. Sam was sitting next to him, scanning the map.

"So, how far out are we?" asked Danny.

"Um...I don't know, two hours?" shrugged Sam.

"Great," grunted Danny, "Two hours of flying this thing. _Fun._"

"We could play I Spy," suggested Sam.

"Pass."

"I thought as much," grinned Sam, sitting back in her seat and opening the spellbook.

* * *

Valerie was feeling fairly calm.

She, Jones, Guinevere and a company of royal guards – soldiers of the First 'Coldstream' Guards Regiment, to be precise – were making their way down the river in wooden launches. The soldiers were griping, as soldiers often do; wondering why they were doing the work of the marines.

She was on Jones' back again, gliding slowly above the troops. The weather was bit hot, but otherwise pleasant, but the moisture in the air indicated that the weather would soon change.

"So what kind of power does El Dorado have?" asked Valerie.

"Dunno, lass," shrugged Jones, "Her Majesty hasn't told me. Must be powerful, though."

"Oi, Jones!"

One of the soldiers had called out from his launch.

"You see that? On the left bank, look!"

Valerie looked at the left bank. A line of skeletons could be seen through the grass, dressed in rusty helmets and armour.

"Conquistadores," whispered the soldier, "We in't the first to come 'ere."

"We're entering treacherous waters," nodded Guinevere, grimly, "Steel yourselves."

All of a sudden, Valerie didn't feel quite so calm.

* * *

The skipper was feeling fairly calm.

The Orinoco, he noted, was as far away from buses and trains and airports as one could possibly get. Ferrying people up and down the river was more peaceful then JFK airport, more exciting than the monotony of the Sydney bus route, and paid better then the Ghan. Yes, life was finally looking up.

He tied the ferry to the dock and looked at his next customers.

"Hey, I know you!"

His heart sank.

Dr. Insano, Jazz and Athena had turned up in the middle of the jungle to find a ferry – and out of all the ferries on all the Orinoco, they'd chosen his.

"You need a boat," he sighed.

"Yes, yes I do!" nodded Insano.

"Then just _take it_," snapped the skipper, marching away, "I don't even care anymore."

Jazz watched as the poor man literally strolled into the jungle.

"You know that guy?" he asked.

"Sure, he used to drive buses in Australia," nodded Insano.

"And he was the customs agent at JFK, remember?" reminded Athena.

"Oh yeah..."

Jazz shook her head.

"Never mind, we've got a boat, let's go," she said.

The three walked up the gangplank, Insano waving at the distant shape of a weeping man in the trees.

* * *

Ovard Grim was feeling fairly calm.

He was seated at his desk, doing some administrative paperwork for his scrap company. The gremlin he had acquired had been stuffed and mounted over the fireplace.

If his calculations were correct, Masters would be nearing El Dorado by now, as would his inevitable pursuers. Everything was about to go down.

Of course, it didn't matter to him who had won. He had extorted what he needed from both Masters and Insano – what happened to them was irrelevant.

Grim grinned to himself. Everything was going to plan.

* * *

Dani was not feeling particularly calm at all.

She had been stuffed in a compartment of the dark hold, unable to stand due to the low roof. It was hot and uncomfortable, and the hull appeared to be ghost proof.

She had been awake for three hours and had attempted to get out for that long. She couldn't hear any of the others, so she assumed she was alone in the compartment.

Suddenly, a trapdoor above her opened. Light streamed in – she winced.

"Good morning, Danielle," sneered Vlad, "We've arrived."

The billionaire was standing over the trapdoor, the cloaked being and Mr. Cromwell next to him. The Witchfinder reached into the trapdoor and began to pull her out by the ponytail.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, "Let go!"

Mr. Cromwell simply pulled harder.

"Fine, I'm getting out, I'm getting out!" shouted Dani, climbing out of the door.

The yacht had been moored on in a small inlet next to what appeared to be a cave, if one ignored the light at the other end.

"Behold," sniffed the cloaked being, "The road to El Dorado."

"You're crazy?" snarled Dani, "There's no such thing."

"Isn't there?" chuckled Vlad.

"I'm going to give you an offer," said the cloaked man, "I need a descendant – a descendant of one Captain Fenton. As a clone, you will do quite nicely."

"You want me to help you?" snapped Dani, "Forget it."

"Okay," nodded the cloaked being, "Very well, very well."

He turned to Cromwell.

"Kill one of the captives," he ordered, "The one with the glasses and the stupid hat."

"No!" exclaimed Dani.

The cloaked being turned back to Dani.

"Then I believe you know what to do," he nodded.

He leaned right in, his obscured face uncomfortably close to Dani's.

"Are you going to be a good little girl, Danielle?"

Dani glared. Then she head-butted him.

The hood of his cloak fell off, revealing the being's face.

The face was shriveled and rotten in some places. A hole made by a musket ball blemished the right side of his forehead – presumably the back of his head was far worse. His purple veins could be clearly seen on his deathly pale skin, and wiry grey hair formed a pair of unkempt sideburns. The collar of a fine black-and-gold coat edged out from under the cloak. Red eyes stared right into Dani's soul.

"Wh-what are you?" whimpered Dani.

The being clicked his fingers. A top hat appeared on his head, and he began to discard the cloak.

"Me?" chuckled the being, "I am the Governor."

* * *

Zim'sMostLoyalServant was right. We owe him a coke.


	30. 30 10 13: A Regal Intermission

Like last year, I was going to do a Protect and Survive parody about this time. Like last year, that has recently been a rather nasty disaster, this time much closer to home. In respect to those who have suffered or lost property in the recent NSW bushfires, I have elected to pull my original plan. I decided this several days ago, but I figured I should explain myself in case anybody was expecting the parody.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor: **Well, he's an immortal corpse. They tend to be creepy. Thanks for reading!

**Night-Waker:** Fight scenes are fast approaching, worry not. :) Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55:** It can only end one way...in El Dorado. :] Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Well, raising a corpse is a lot easier then rejuvinating it. =P Thanks very much!

**Autobot-Outcast:** CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. Thanks!

* * *

**30/10/13: A Regal Intermission**

We interrupt your quest for El Dorado for a brief list...

* * *

A List and History of the Monarchs of Great Britain (by which we do of course mean England until 1603, as is the standard practice. Sorry Alexander III of Scotland, but you're not English enough.)

Ready...

Go!

**THE NORMANS – French Vikings Occupying England**

_William the Conqueror [1066-87] –_ Born William the Bastard, because he was illegitimate and also a bastard. Conquered Saxon England at the Battle of Hastings, established a proper tax code with the Domesday Book (GODDAMN DEMOCRAT) and murdered most of Northern England for the lulz. Established a reputation as a fearsome warrior then died like a punk by falling off his horse.

_William II Rufus [1087-1100] –_ Called 'Rufus' because of his red face (Rufus the Red Faced Tyrant!). Didn't marry, so many historians think he was gay (then again, many historians think _everybody_ was gay). Taxed the hell out of England so that his brother Robert could afford to go off crusading. Died in a hunting accident that was most certainly absolutely not orchestrated by his brother...

_Henry I [1100-35] _– Seized the throne immediately after Rufus' death, which doesn't exactly alleviate suspicions that he had him killed. Threw Robert off a tower, lost his son in a shipwreck, declared his daughter heir and then ate too many eels and died. Rather a unique way to go.

_Stephen and Matilda [1135-54]_ – Engaged in conflict for the throne, which sadly was not a mud-wrestling contest but in fact a violent civil war. It was known as the Anarchy (in the UK). Matilda would eventually win (thank god, because Stephen's son was named Eustace and my god King Eustace is an awful name) and the throne was passed to her son, Henry.

**THE HOUSE OF PLANTAGENET – Crusader Kings!**

_Henry II [1154-89] –_ Accidently murdered his best friend Thomas Becket, which should tell you how happy his reign was. Started the long process of subjugating the Irish without asking if they wanted to be subjugated. Basically all of his children declared war on him. Died of heartbreak (and ulcers. Actually mainly ulcers.)

_Richard I the Lionheart [1189-99] –_ Warrior king and fearless crusader made famous by Robin Hood. A bit crap as an administrator though – he was England for exactly six months of his reign and ended up bankrupting it on ransom payments. Oh well, at least he was kind of cool.

_John [1199-1216] _– Poor, unlucky sod. He got excommunicated, lost Normandy, got forced to sign the Magna Carta and then crowned it all by losing the crown jewels in the Wash (no, not the washing machine, in a ford in Norfolk). He then ate too many peaches and died. Remembered as a villain because everybody loves Robin Hood.

_Henry III [1216-72] –_ Elected to ignore the Magna Carta, so the barons got annoyed and to put a long story short, parliament was created. Truly, a monstrous act. About as popular as smallpox among his subjects, especially the Jews who he segregated. Died of old age, which was a very rare thing back then.

_Edward I [1272-1307] –_ Longshanks! Hammer of the Scots! Possessor of nicknames! Conquered Scotland and Wales, beat up the French, and expelled the Jews, which is slightly less badass and slightly more scummy. Like many who play Oregon Trail, ended up dying of dysentery.

_Edward II [1307-27]_ – Not so much Hammer of the Scots as he was Hammered by the Scots. Just wasn't very good at being king, allowing himself to be controlled by his wife and his _–ahem!- favourite_, Piers Gaveston (who the barons eventually killed). Ended up locked in a dungeon by his wife and was killed when a red-hot poker was inserted up his rectum. That might be the nastiest death in British royal history.

_Edward III [1327-77] –_ Turned England into a military power and started the Hundred Years War, which would last for a hundred (and sixteen) years. Funny that. He also ruled England during the Black Death, which was of course happy fine times for all involved. Outlived his son (the famed Black Prince), so his grandson became King when he died.

_Richard II [1377-99] _– Took the throne at the ripe old age of ten. Saw off Wat Tyler's peasant rebellion but was unable to do the same against Henry Bolingbroke and was quietly starved to death in a dungeon.

**THE HOUSES OF LANCASTER AND YORK – Every Rose has it's Thorns**

_Henry IV [1399-1413] – _Felt his whole regime feeling really guilty about killing Richard II. Fought off a whole bunch of rebellions, then caught leprosy and died. At this point, we can assume he stopped feeling guilty.

_Henry V [1413-22] – _Won the Battle of Agincourt and seized the French throne, something that English people still get really proud of despite the fact that it was six hundred years ago. He then died suddenly, which can be a pain, especially when it ends up being the catalyst of violent civil war.

_Henry VI [1421-60/1470-71] – _The Woobie of British monarchs. King-hearted, peaceful and benevolent, he was absolutely rubbish at cementing control over his kingdom. A nasty civil war (the Wars of the Roses) broke out and had his throne nicked (_twice_) by Edward of York. Ended up going mad before being murdered. Poor fellow.

_Edward IV [1461-70/1471-83] – _Big strapping warrior who was much better at the whole violent war business then Henry and ended up defeating him for good at Tewkesbury in 1471. Ended up assigning his brother Richard as regent to his son. How could that possibly go wrong?

_Edward V [1483] – _Never crowned and promptly vanished. Funny that.

_Richard III [1483-85]_ – Depending on your point of view, either a murdering tyrant or a cuddly teddy bear. There is no middle ground. Died on the field at Bosworth Field during a battle with Henry Tudor, mainly due to the fact that his ally Lord Stanley betrayed him. With friends like these...

**THE HOUSE OF TUDOR – A Song of Wives and Fire**

_Henry VII [1485-1509]_ – Stingy, stingy fellow who ended up putting everyone whose name wasn't Henry Tudor into debt. Ended the Lancaster-York rivalry by marrying Elizabeth of York. His eldest son Arthur ended up dead, leading to the reign of...

_Henry VIII [1509-47] – _The Fat One. Had six wives (not all at the same time) and beheaded two of them, as well as three of his closest advisors. Had a fierce rivalry with the King of France, split from the Catholic Church, lost his best ship when it literally fell over, and ended up dying of a stinking ulcer. Lovely.

_Edward VI [1547-53] – _Sickly kid. Died at sixteen. There are very few ways to make that funny, actually.

_Lady Jane Grey [1553]_ – She was proclaimed queen, therefore counts. Lasted nine days, then was beheaded.

_Mary I [1553-1558] – _Tried to return England to Catholicism with fire. Married Prince Phillip (no, not _that_ Prince Phillip) and ended up totally ignored by him. Lost Calais. Not a very successful reign, really.

_Elizabeth I [1558-1603] – _The Virgin Queen. Never married (see Rufus for what historians think that means). Fought with Phillip (now King of Spain) and Mary Queen of Scots, beheading the latter and beating the hell out of the former's armada. She was pretty swell, really. Died childless, leading the Scottish James VI to take the throne.

**HOUSE OF STUART – Absolute Powah!**

_James I [1603-25] – _Paranoid about witches. Made homosexuality illegal, presumably because it made his relations with the Duke of Buckingham kinkier. Yay hypocrisy! English colonisation of America began with his reign, because all the puritans wanted to get away from him.

_Charles I [1625-49] – _Tried absolute monarchy on for size. Rather lost his head when it failed. Thank you, I'm here all week.

_Charles II [1660-85] – _Restored the monarch after eleven years of rule by Oliver Cromwell. Called the Merry Monarch and helped in fighting the Great Fire of London. Unfortunately, got chummy with Louis XIV of France and got Britain into some unnecessary wars with the Dutch. Backed the anti-Catholic crusade of a smelly man named Titus Oates, despite being secretly Catholic.

_James II [1685-88] _– Tried reinstating Catholicism, but everyone had had enough of this whole religion business and chucked him out. Easy come, easy go.

_William III and Mary II [1688-1702] – _Invited by Parliament because Mary was a Stuart and William had a nice Dutch Army to throw the King out. The Glencoe Massacre happened under William's reign and was enacted on his orders. Died when his horse tripped over a mole. No, really.

_Anne [1702-1714]_ – The first monarch of the Kingdom of Great Britain. So fat that she had to be buried in a square coffin. Supported one of Britain's greatest commanders (the Duke of Marlborough, one of Winston Churchill's ancestors), then betrayed him when she fell out with his wife. Died without issue.

**HOUSE OF HANNOVER – Muskets and Revolution and Stuff**

_George I [1714-27] _– Elector of Hannover before becoming king. Didn't even try to hide his contempt for his new kingdom. The first Jacobite rising of angry Catholic Stuarts happened during his reign. Died while celebrating the death of his wife, because karma is a thing.

_George II [1727-60] – _The one that was in Pirates of the Caribbean, and also the last king to lead his men into battle. The last battle on British soil was fought in his reign (Culloden), and Britain accidentally gained an Empire in the Seven Years War.

_George III [1760-1820] – _Lost America (and yes, he tried looking under the bed, it wasn't there), but balanced that out with the defeat of Napoleon and the Industrial Revolution. Notable for going completely mad and thinking a tree was the King of Prussia.

_George IV [1820-30] – _The one that was in Blackadder. Very fat, very lazy, very boorish, very unpopular.

_William IV [1830-37] – _Kept the throne warm for...

_Victoria [1837-1901] –_ Reigned _forever_, much to the annoyance of her son. Saw over the zenith of the British Empire and the tail end of the Industrial Revolution. Was actually pretty much powerless, as power had finally completely shifted to the people.

_Edward VII [1901-10] – _Designed his very own sex chair. No, really, look it up. Also smooth-talked France into an alliance.

**HOUSE OF WINDSOR – The Firm**

_George V [1910-36]_ – The king during the First World War. There's a lot of pictures of him inspecting his troops, preserving his fantastic facial hair for all time. Rather a tyrannical father, though. His last words were 'Bugger Bognor!'

_Edward VIII [1936] –_ Fascist arsehole who liked Hitler. Abdicated because parliament wouldn't let him marry a divorced American.

_George VI [1936-52] –_ The one that was in the King's Speech. Had a bit of a nervous stammer and a smoking habit. Lead Britain through World War II. Died early due to stress and probably nicotine.

_Elizabeth II [1952-now] – _If I have to tell you who this is, you need to go outside and learn things.

* * *

Well, that was fun. Tune in tomorrow to watch THE FINAL BATTLE.


	31. 31 10 13: The Secret of El Dorado

It's time to end this ones and for all!

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Founded, yes, but it wasn't independent until 1901. Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Aye, 'tis an awesome movie. :D Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** You know, I probably will. :) Glad you liked it! Thanks for the review.

**Cartoonatic55:** ...d'oh! :| Honestly, these are more fun, anyway. Thanks very much!

**Autobot-Outcast:** I WOULD I WOULD! Thanks!

* * *

**31/10/13: The Secret of El Dorado**

"Okay, I can get that they don't want us to run away," said Timmy, "But why _chains?_"

He and the Governor's other captives (Dani excluded) were lined up in a literal chain gang. They were being led through the tunnel – Vlad and Mr. Cromwell were guarding them. In front, the Governor was leading the way, Morgan dragging Dani along behind him.

"Well, he _said_ he was the Governor," shrugged Sandy, "Maybe he's a prison governor?"

"He can't be a prison governor," whimpered Spongebob, "I wouldn't survive in jail!"

"Don't worry," reassured Sandy, "We ain't going to prison."

"It's far more likely he'll kill us all!" exclaimed Sheen.

Sandy glared at him.

"Well," said Mr. Cromwell, "Here we are."

The group emerged from the tunnel. The sight that met them was breathtaking.

A great city, constructed entirely of gold and silver (save for the long grass surrounding it), spread out across a great valley surrounded by cliffs. At the end of the city was a great pyramid, extending high above the other buildings and temples, with a great altar at the top. The whole city shimmered in the sun – but it was steadily darkening as storm clouds gathered above.

There was a long silence as the group took in the sight.

"Wait a minute," said Jimmy at last, "This is...this is all _Mayan_. But they lived in central America, didn't they?"

"Perhaps this city was founded by Mayan migrants," mused Vlad.

"It is irrelevant," snapped the Governor, "Come – we must make for the altar."

He began to walk ahead.

All of a sudden, the ground started to shake.

"Earthquake?" gulped Mr. Cromwell.

"Actually," noted Morgan, "I fear it's something else."

At precisely that moment, a ferry burst out of the tunnel.

Dr. Insano gripped the railing on the bow, cackling maniacally as the large boat crashed into a building, knocking down the wall. At the same time, Jazz and Madame Athena literally back flipped out of the back, the former's hand glowing as she thrust it towards the chains. They promptly melted.

"...cah-can I be a witch?" whispered Carl.

"No, you can't," replied Sheen.

Not a moment later, the Spectre Speeder roared over the cliffs and came to a landing in front of the tunnel. Danny and Sam leapt out, the former in ghost mode.

"Let her go!" shouted Danny, charging an ectobeam and aiming it at Morgan.

"Oh," sniffed the Governor, "It's _you._ I see you forgot to bring an army this time..."

"...so it's pretty lucky that _we_ did."

Valerie, Guinevere and the Coldstream Guards emerged from the tunnel, Jones soaring through after them.

"Jones!" exclaimed Danny, beaming.

"Alright, lad?" grinned Jones, "Just thought I'd bring the cavalry in."

"You're surrounded," snapped Guinevere, "Surrender immediately!"

The Governor blinked.

Then he laughed.

"You think I've struggled so long just to surrender to a woman, her pets and her tin soldiers?" he sniffed, "After two hundred years? I should think not."

He turned to Morgan.

"Hand me the girl," he snapped, "And hold off these idiots."

"Oh no you don't," scowled Dani, "I'm going ghost!"

The cry echoed throughout the valley, but nothing happened.

"Wait, why aren't I going ghost?" quizzed Dani.

"You think I'm stupid, girl?" demanded the Governor, "Your powers have been blocked – we used some infernal contraption, what was it called..."

"The Plasmius Maximus," interrupted Vlad.

"Don't ever interrupt me again," snapped the Governor, "In any case, you're at my mercy."

His eyes suddenly turned black.

"Oh, and only three of us?"

Dozens of skeletons in black uniforms began to emerge from the ground.

"I think not."

He walked off, dragging along a struggling Dani. The skeletons formed up, blocking the party from following him.

"So," nodded Ember, cracking her knuckles, "Who's first?"

And then it began to rain.

* * *

It was Mr. Cromwell that fired the first shot of the Battle of El Dorado.

He would later claim self-defence – that Timmy had charged at him, his fairies in Starflinger mode, and that he pulled a shotgun on a small child in self-defence. This was not, you understand, a very sympathetic alibi.

As he pulled the trigger, he was suddenly shoved to the side as Spongebob – yes, _Spongebob_ – hurled himself at the Witchfinder, throwing off his aim and sending his shot into the sky.

"Stay away from my friend!" Spongebob bellowed as they crashed to the ground.

"Get off me you stupid little..."

"I wouldn't finish that sentence, if I were you."

Mr. Cromwell looked up. Sandy was standing over him, arms crossed. He sneered.

"Oh, come on," he demanded, "What're you going to do? Brush me with your ta-"

He was cut off as Sandy roundhouse kicked him in the face.

Disoriented and spitting out teeth, Mr. Cromwell aimed his shotgun, only to have it torn from his hands and thrown away. Before he could recover, a chop collided with his temple, knocking him back to the ground.

"You're not Stuart," snapped Sandy, "You're not a leader. Stop trying."

She turned to Timmy and Spongebob. The former was staring, jaw agape.

"Come on," she exclaimed, "Let's get after that varmint before this idiot gets up."

"...yes ma'am," muttered Timmy.

The three slipped out of the fighting, running for the pyramid.

* * *

Jazz ducked under a skeleton's arm, grabbing it and yanking it off before tripping the skeleton into grass. Athena had insisted on self-defence training, and it was clearly paying off.

"Apprentice!" she heard Morgan shout, "Face me!"

Jazz turned – just in time to catch a blast of magic right in the face.

Morgan smirked as the magic dissipating, revealing a rather surprised and solid marble statue where Jazz had been.

"Well, that's just _rude_."

Insano stepped towards Morgan, punching out a skeleton that got too close.

"Given what I hear of you," snapped Morgan, "That's quite hypocritical."

"...true," admitted Insano, "Point still stands. Have at you!"

He aimed the Fiddley Thing and pressed a button – only for Morgan to casually raise a hand, as if to block him.

Insano promptly combusted.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, "Ow, ow, that was supposed to happen to _you!_ You cheated! Oh my god the pain!"

He ran back into the melee, trampling several skeletons and setting them on fire.

"Hey, witch," snapped Ember, stepping over the burning bones, "News flash – I'm the only one allowed to go after the dipstick and his family."

"Masters would disagree with you," sniffed Morgan.

"Yeah, well he's _nuts_," reminded Ember.

"Perhaps," nodded Morgan, "In any case, what makes you think that you'll do better than this girl and that madman?"

"She brought backup."

Guinevere, Athena and Jimmy stepped up, taking up fighting stances.

"Hmm," nodded Morgan, "Cute."

She thrust forward her hands, sending a blast right into Jimmy and knocking him to the floor. Without skipping a beat, she created a wave of gas, washing it over Ember and turning the ghost into glass. Athena sent a red beam towards Morgan, who just managed to block it and send it back – Athena fell to her knees and drifted to sleep.

Morgan smirked and turned to Guinevere.

"So, Guinevere," she nodded, "Just us."

"It always is," replied Morgan.

Both charged beams of magic and fired, the beams colliding between them.

* * *

"Why must you always turn up when I'm on the precipice of victory?" sighed Vlad.

He and Danny were high above the battle, exchanging blasts.

"Precipice of victory?" retorted Danny, "_Please._ You never win! I mean, _my dad _beat you up."

Vlad literally snarled and hurled a blast right into Danny's stomach, slamming him right into a building.

"Insolent boy!" he thundered, "I am in an _entirely_ different league to Jack Fenton!"

"Yeah, you're right," nodded Danny, "My dad is _much_ better then you are."

Vlad roared and dived at Danny. The younger ghost grinned and rolled out of the way, sending his foe crashing headfirst into the roof.

"It's like bullfighting," he grinned, "Get 'em mad, and they'll charge anything."

He flew off towards the pyramid before Vlad could recover.

* * *

"Tucker!" Sam hissed.

Tucker raced towards Sam, creep stick in hand. The skeleton he'd attracted followed – Sam zapped it with one of the Fenton family's many ectoguns.

"Yeah?" asked Tucker.

"Look," Sam whispered, "Guinevere and the witch are going at it."

"That's Guinevere?" quizzed Tucker.

"Tucker," reminded Sam, "You were _there_ – in _Avalon_. Remember?"

"Oh yeah..."

Sam shook her head.

"We have to help her," she said, "Give me the bat."

_"Creep stick."_

"Just do it," grumbled Sam.

Tucker handed the stick over. Sam rubbed it – her hands glowed purple as she whispered an incantation.

"There," she nodded, "Distract her, I've gotta get around."

"I'm bait?" exclaimed Tucker.

"Yeah," nodded Sam, "Have fun!"

* * *

The Governor was struggling up the stairs, dragging Dani up behind him. The girl was doing everything she could to hold him up – up to and including gripping every step of the steep staircase.

"Will you stop that?" demanded the Governor, "You're worse than my convicts!"

"Thanks!" grinned Dani, gripping the next stair.

The Governor scowled.

"Nearly there, nearly there..."

* * *

Morgan sneered as the beams pushed slowly towards her opponent.

"What's the matter?" she sneered, "Gone soft on the throne?"

"No," replied Guinevere, "I'm saving my energy."

"For what?" demanded Morgan, "You have no..."

"Hey, witchy!"

Tucker leapt into the open ground behind them.

"Look at me!" he yelled, "I'm a target!"

Morgan rolled her eyes, diverting a strand of her massive bolt of magic towards Tucker. He hadn't even time to scream before he shrank down and turned into a pewter figure.

"What an idiot," she sniffed.

"Perhaps not," replied Guinevere, eyebrow raised.

"Batter up!"

Sam leapt up behind Morgan and swung the creep stick at the back of her head. There was a loud clang as the magically enhanced object whacked her, and she was knocked out.

Sam grinned – then her face fell.

"Batter up," she repeated, "_Really_."

Guinevere grinned, allowing her magic to withdraw back into her hands.

"Excellent work," she complimented, "Although the battle cry was a bit..."

"Please don't remind me," sighed Sam.

* * *

The tide had turned.

With Morgan incapacitated, Vlad missing and Mr. Cromwell hardly a martial artist, the Coldstreams and the party were making quick work of the remaining skeletons. Some were enjoying the fight more than others – Jones, in particular, was having a great deal of fun seeing how high he could hurl skeletons with his mouth.

The Governor looked back on the debacle as he reached the top of the pyramid.

"It doesn't matter," he said to himself, "We're finally here."

He walked towards the altar.

The altar was nothing much. There was a small table, two gold carvings of what might have been gods, and a small silver box, not unlike an undersized tomb. There was an indent shaped like a hand on the side of the box.

"And here we go," he sneered.

He pulled on Dani's arm, ignoring the cry of pain as he pressed her hand on the indent. There was a hissing noise – Dani winced in pain.

"I bring you the skin of the family of my foe!" snarled the Governor, "Now, return my offering with your wisdom!"

"This is your last warning!"

The Governor turned around.

Danny had arrived, Timmy, Sandy and Spongebob behind him. There was a poof of smoke, and the boy's fairies popped into view.

"Let her go," snarled Danny.

The Governor sneered.

"Very well," he nodded, throwing Dani to the ground, "She has served her purpose. The box is open."

"Open?"

Vlad landed on the altar, eyebrow raised. A moment later, a ragged Mr. Cromwell climbed the last stair.

"Yes," chuckled Mr. Cromwell, "Mr. Stuart, the Lord Protector, the King, they will finally be avenged! Open it! _Open it!_"

"I think he's falling apart," whispered Cosmo.

"You think?" grunted Wanda.

The Governor grinned.

"I admire you for trying," he admitted, "But your story is at an end."

He pushed off the lid.

There was a long silence as the Governor gazed into the box, but nothing dramatic happened. Vlad and Mr. Cromwell approached, looking over the Governor's shoulders.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," growled Vlad.

The box was empty.

"Empty," whispered Mr. Cromwell, "It's empty. This whole expedition...this whole battle...it was a _complete __**waste of TIME!"**_

He clutched his hair.

"I knew it!" he bellowed, "I knew I should never have trusted _your kind!_ Do you know what this _means_, you _bastard?!_ This was my last chance! My last chance to reform the Witchfinders, to bring back the King, to _get rid of magic!_ You've _ruined me! YOU HEAR ME?!"_

"It always rains."

The Governor's response was almost a whisper, and yet it bore enough weight to shut up the hysterical Witchfinder.

"I'm sorry?" replied Vlad.

"It _always_ rains."

The Governor turned around. His eyes had turned pure white.

"Everything is always the same," he repeated, calmly, "There's always a monster. There's always you_._ And it always rains."

"What're you talking about?" demanded Dani.

"We're trapped in a never ending circle," replied the Governor, "I've seen it – the patterns, always unique, always the same. That is the power – the _curse_ of El Dorado."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flintlock pistol.

"There's only one way out."

He raised the gun to his head.

"Wait, don't do it!" shouted Danny, "Tell us what the circle is! We can help-"

There was a loud bang. Then it was all over.

* * *

"He...shot himself?"

The group had regrouped outside, back on Insano's salvaged ferry (how he'd got the thing back into the Orinoco was anyone's guess.) The rain had stopped, replaced by a pleasant late-afternoon sun. All of Morgan's curses had been reversed, Vlad had slipped away, and Mr. Cromwell and Morgan were now in Coldstream custody in the hold.

"That's what I said," replied Danny, "He looked into the box, babbled about some kind of circle and then shot himself."

"What a lunatic," said Insano, shaking his head.

Sandy glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.

"It was weird," agreed Timmy, "Like that one movie with the guy with the fedora and the Nazis..."

"The way I see it," shrugged Jones, "He wanted the power of El Dorado and...well...he got it."

"Just not in the way he was expecting," finished Jazz.

"Still, this all seems a bit...suspicious to me," mused Jimmy, "Something tells me this won't be the last time we hear of this circle..."

"Ah, come on," shrugged Danny, "Even if we do, remember what he said – we always win! What do we have to worry about?"

He grinned and leant over the railing.

"Look, we made it through this one," he grinned, "Let's focus on today."

"Can't argue with that," agreed Jimmy.

"Your majesty," suggested Athena, "Care for a lift back to your ship?"

"I would like that, Madame Athena," nodded Guinevere.

"Alright!" exclaimed Insano, "Everybody hold on to your lunches, we have a ship to find!"

"Wait, Insano, no!" exclaimed Jazz.

Insano raised his thumb. Up in the wheelhouse, Cosmo activated the engines.

And it was thus that the ferry roared off down the Orinoco into the sunset, leaving El Dorado in peace once more.

* * *

"Wake up."

The Governor stirred.

He was laying in a black void that seemed endless, a man in armour standing over him. The Governor glanced at his hand – his flesh was no longer rotten.

"I suppose this is hell?" he muttered.

"Not yet, Governor."

The armoured man offered his hand.

"King James I of England and Scotland," he introduced.

The Governor's eyes widened as he was helped to his feet.

"Impossible," he replied, "You're...you're dead."

"And so are you," reminded James, "And yet here we are."

A massive oak tree appeared behind the king.

"Tell me," he asked, "What is that?"

"A tree?"

"It is but a strand of the multiverse," corrected James, "A web of possibilities, all stemming from a single line of events."

The tree lit up, it's leaves turning into pictures of people, places and events.

"This is our oyster, Governor," said James, "This is how we break the circle."

"Just us against the multiverse?" quizzed the Governor.

James smirked.

"_Hardly._"

Quite suddenly, a muscular ghost in a very familiar jumpsuit stepped out of a portal, which vanished behind him.

"Grim's on board," he nodded, "Is this the new guy?"

"Governor," introduced James, "This is Dan."

The Governor offered his hand. Dan didn't take it.

"So, um, who's in charge here?" quizzed the Governor.

"Oh, you wouldn't know him," shrugged James, "According to your universe, he never even existed."

The Governor heard voices wafting in the wind.

"_What have I done?_"

_"You kinda destroyed the world..."_

_"Do what humans do best..."_

"What is his name?" whispered the Governor.

Dan sneered.

"_ReGenesis._"

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

I clicked save and turned to the camera.

"Yes," I nodded, "I _did_ just end it on a cliff-hanger. I love it when I'm nasty."

I sighed.

"And now I'm going to make you all even more upset with me," I continued, "There's no way to sugar-coat it, so I'll just say it. While there will be a Halloween Unspectacular next year..."

I breathed in deeply.

"...it'll be the last."

I waited for the boos to subside.

"I'm gonna be honest," I continued, "I'm starting to run dry on both ideas and enthusiasm for this series. I had a long think, and I think five years is good enough and it would be better to stop then write something that just isn't up to scratch. There will also be know _We Didn't Start the Fire _parodies, because I think that joke has run its course."

I paused.

"Wow, I'm being really disappointing today!" I realised, "Oh well."

I got up.

"So, thank you all very much for your support," I finished, "I couldn't do this without you. So long, happy Halloween and...oh eff it, we'll at least to the chorus. Good night!"

ALL: _We didn't start October,  
It's some science glee,  
And we don't have degrees,  
We didn't start October,  
But one thing can be told,  
Because it's all E3's fault._

_We didn't start October,  
It's some science glee,  
And we don't have degrees,  
We didn't start October,  
But one thing can be told,  
Because it's all E3's fault!_

* * *

FINAL STATISTICS:

31 Chapters.

130 Pages.

1,433 Hits.

8 Faves.

6 Alerts.

36,319 Words.

177,071 Characters (without spaces).

Approx. 100 Hours of Work.

One Exhausted Author.

* * *

I gave Morgan the biggest fight scene because she wasn't at the altar.

As a final note, remember to have any contest entries in by Nov. 15. Please PM me when you post them. :)


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